Pennies From Heaven
by Mr Sinister
Summary: Scott & Jean get some lifechanging news, which will affect the XMen just as profoundly. Chapter Eight now up!
1. Good News, Bad News

**_Pennies From Heaven_**

**_Chapter One: Good News, Bad News_**

The afternoon sunshine reflected brightly off the surface of Breakstone Lake, ducks swimming busily across the water and dipping their heads in search of food. Jean Grey-Summers reached across the blanket that both she and her husband were sat on, into the wicker picnic basket that she had brought with them down to the edge of the water, and pulled out a bottle of red wine and two glasses. Along with that, she produced a selection of small round cheeses and some crackers. She glanced at her husband's raised eyebrows, letting his surprise wash over her mind, and smiled. "Hey, who says picnics have to be lowbrow?" she chuckled, offering Scott one of the wine glasses. "Let's live a little, you know?"

Scott took it and shrugged. "I'm not sorry about this, Jean – I'm just surprised you went to this much effort just for the two of us." He picked up the wine bottle and jabbed the cork in the bottle's neck with his pen-knife's corkscrew, before pouring Jean and himself some richly-scented wine. "Not that I'm complaining, of course," he added, after tasting some of the wine. "I always enjoy being pampered."

Jean pursed her lips and gave Scott a disapproving look, one eyebrow arched delicately. "Nice recovery, Mr Summers. I'm glad you appreciate me so much."

"Oh, I do," Scott replied, and leaned forwards so he could kiss her, gently touching his mouth to hers. "Every day."

"I'll hold you to that, Scott," Jean told him, sipping from her glass and savouring the full-bodied flavour of the liquid contained within it. "Wow – where did you find this? It's really good."

"Stole it from Warren's wine cellar," Scott chuckled. "Don't let him know I told you that, though. He gets very possessive over his wines."

"So I've noticed," Jean said. "Don't worry, sweetheart, your secret's safe with me." Putting down her glass, Jean picked up a short knife and spread some cheese onto a cracker, taking a small nibble of it to sample the way it tasted. "I'm glad I listened to Hank on this one – the man's got great taste when it comes to food. Although I didn't steal this from the refrigerator, so I guess I'm entitled to feel better than you."

Scott laughed. "You live to say things like that, don't you?"

"Absolutely," Jean told him, before she lay on her back and watched the clouds scudding overhead. Then she pointed up at one of them and said "Hey, look – that cloud looks just like a horse." Scott glanced up at it, and sighed.

"You know, you aren't actually supposed to use your powers to _make_ clouds look like things, Jean. You're supposed to use your imagination."

"I _am_ using my imagination, sourpuss. I'm using it to make clouds look like things," Jean laughed. "Look, there's one that looks like a cat." She waved her hand at a particular cloud, and as Scott watched, the frozen water vapour shifted so that it resembled a cat sitting on all fours. "And there's one that looks like Hank." The cloud's puffy edges warped so that it took on Hank's distinctive hairstyle, bestial features and fangs, and then Jean blew a kiss at it so that it dissolved into something more like its original shape.

"Two can play at that game," Scott said, lifting his glasses and firing a beam of ruby-coloured energy up into the sky, punching a large hole through a small cloud. "Look, it's a donut." Abruptly, he stopped, putting a hand to his forehead and grunting softly.

Jean's smile faded as she felt his pain crackling backwards along their psychic rapport, and she put her hand to her forehead as well, trying to force the shared sensation out with her fingertips. "Remind me to stock up on Tylenol," she said, rubbing her temples. "Are you all right, Scott?"

Scott shook his head. "Not really. This is the third time this week that that's happened. Maybe I should get Hank to give me a check-up."

"Might be a good idea," Jean agreed. "Come on – let's do it now while we're still thinking about it." She finished her cheese-covered cracker with a couple of quick bites and washed it down with what was left of her glass of wine, and as Scott pushed himself to his feet, she started helping him pack away the contents of the basket. Then she folded up the blanket that the two of them had been sitting on and placed it underneath one arm. Scott adjusted his glasses with one hand while massaging one of his temples with the other, and then grasped Jean's left hand so that the two of them could walk back to the mansion together. As they did so, Jean noticed the small blue shape of Tom Worthington running around the garden after his mother, who was trying to do what she called a "haka" (which, Jean had been reliably informed, was apparently a Maori war dance from New Zealand. Jean didn't think questioning Betsy on that matter was wise, or indeed necessary, and so she had let the matter slip) in the middle of the rear lawn. As they got closer to her, Jean could hear Betsy chanting aggressively in a language she didn't recognise, and she smiled. "Sounds like Betsy's having a good time today," she said, adjusting the position of the picnic basket on her arm.

"Sure does," Scott agreed. "Better not get in her way, though – you know what Betsy's like when she's had too much adrenaline."

"Do I ever," Jean laughed. "I swear, I don't think I've ever seen anybody get so angry over the smallest things. Bobby almost lost a hand when he asked her for the remote control last week, remember?"

"No, but I'm sure Bobby does," Scott said, one corner of his mouth twitching upwards in a brief smile. "He's been jumpy around her for a while now. That certainly explains why." He laughed – which ended in another grunt of pain. Scott wobbled on his feet for a moment or two, and Jean tried to hold him steady as best she could while blocking off the reflected pain that she could feel running down their psychic rapport. It burned into her frontal lobes like boiling water, and she felt tears beading at the corners of her eyes as it did so. Fortunately, it only lasted for a second or two, and she was able to take a deep breath and help Scott find his balance again.

"Are you all right to carry on?" she asked a still-woozy Scott. "Do you want me to find Hank for you? I'm sure he won't mind coming out here –"

"No," Scott stated firmly. "I'm okay. Let's go."

"All right," Jean said uncertainly. "If you're sure."

Ten minutes later, the two of them had finally managed to get down to the med-lab, where Hank bounced off his stool and cartwheeled over to where the two of them were standing. "Greetings and salutations, my exalted friends!" he said in his typically cheerful fashion. "What can I do for you two this wondrous day?"

"Scott's not well," Jean said, saving Scott the trouble of talking since he had started to sweat and was still rubbing at his temples frequently, trying to dislodge the pain that had settled in his skull. "He's been having really bad headaches, and we wondered if you could find out what's causing them."

"Ah," Hank replied, suddenly all business. "Come over here, Scott, and sit yourself down on this seat. I shall attempt a diagnosis with the machines I have to hand – and if possible, I shall attempt to find a treatment for you." When Scott had sat down, Hank flipped a few switches and turned a couple of dials, and a single-beam scanning device on a moveable, jointed armature passed a red wave of light over Scott's skull from the front and from both sides. The device it was connected up to whirred and clicked to itself as it processed the data it had been fed, and then it spat out a short spool of paper. Hank tore it along its perforations and read what it had to say, and Jean immediately felt his mood crash down. She didn't like what that might signify, but she steeled her nerves in any case.

"What is it, Hank?" Scott said through gritted teeth. "My powers are mutating, aren't they?" He forced a smile onto his face at that, but Hank's face remained solemn.

"I'm… afraid not, Scott," he said, taking a deep breath before continuing "You have a brain tumour. It's what's called an astrocytoma, and I'm sorry to have to tell you that these are often incurable. From my initial scans it appears that the tumour has spread throughout your brain and has settled in several different regions. The best I can do is recommend a course of radio- and chemotherapy to try and reduce the tumour's size and growth rate, as well as prescribe you some anti-convulsant drugs to control any epileptic seizures that may result from the tumour pressing against your brain, but that may well prove futile in the long run. I'm sorry, Scott."

Jean felt her heart shatter, despite her best efforts to prevent that from happening. "Wait," she said, a strange quaver coming into her voice that she didn't like hearing very often. "Can't I try and break it up with my powers?"

"That's too risky, Jean," Hank replied sadly. "If you do that, you may well end up breaking pieces of the tumour off and sending them into the bloodstream. That would introduce the cancer to other parts of the body, and to deal with one tumour is far easier than dealing with multiple ones."

"What about a mutant healer?" Scott suggested, and Jean could almost taste the slight edge of desperation in his words. She didn't like the sensations it left her with. "Could they help?"

"If you know of any, I'd be happy to give them a call," Hank said, removing his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose with a clawed finger and thumb. "Unfortunately, the Morlock Healer is dead, and Cerebro hasn't picked up any mutants with that particular power signature since – and you don't have Wolverine's blood type, so a transfusion is out of the question unless you want to add blood poisoning to your list of ailments. I'm afraid technology will be our best weapon here." Then he moved closer to Scott and closed a paw over his friend's shoulder. "Rest assured, my friend, Doctor Reyes and I will do everything I can to help you fight this." He turned and picked up his clipboard, before nodding towards the door. "I'll just give you two a moment alone together, if that's all right." Then he moved out of the lab and into the corridor beyond, and as he did so, Jean could feel the emotions bleeding out of him like arterial fluids, colouring her psychic perception of the lower levels with vivid red slashes of inner pain. She shook her head a little, and then looked down at Scott, who she could tell was still shell-shocked.

"What are we going to do, Jean?" he asked, his voice a hollow mockery of the strong, commanding tone he usually used on missions. Jean shrugged, before she slipped closer to her husband and put her arms around him gently, pressing him closer to her as if she hoped that she could take his pain away physically as well as psychically.

"What we always do, I guess," she replied, resting her head on his shoulder and kissing it briefly. "Stumble through and hope everything falls into place for us. It's always worked before, hasn't it?"

"That depends on your definition of 'worked', Jean," Scott told her with a weak laugh. "I'll need to speak with Ororo about appointing a new field leader for my squad – I can't go out on missions like this. I'd be endangering myself and everybody around me."

"I suppose," Jean agreed with a sad sense of resignation. "Who did you have in mind to fill in for you?"

"Sam," Scott said simply, before he saw Jean's face twist in total surprise. Before she could say a word, he held up a hand so that he could justify himself. "I know he's not much older than Kitty, but Sam was leader of X-Force for a long time. He's got the experience and the tactical know-how of someone twice his age – he'll be a good choice." He pulled one corner of his mouth up to try and reassure Jean. "This is just going to be a temporary arrangement, Jean. I'm pretty sure I can beat this thing before too long."

"I know you can," Jean replied. "Come on. Hank's going to want us out of here before we destroy one of his experiments." She offered Scott her hand, helped him off the seat he'd been ushered into by Hank, and then walked with him back to the elevator that would lead them back to ground level. Reaching out with a single telekinetic nudge, she pushed the button marked 'G' and felt the lift flutter into motion, noiselessly moving upwards with only two short periods of readjustment to mark the beginning and end of its journey. The elevator's doors whispered open and then they were back on the mansion's ground floor, the thick, expensive carpeting and priceless paintings a stark contrast to the sterile tiles and uniformly white of the lower levels. Jean gripped Scott's hand tightly as they made their way down to the edge of Breakstone Lake, and the boathouse that they had made their own marital dwelling. As they did so, Scott pointed out some visitors to the mansion – Tonya and Bobby Anderson had been invited over by Warren, and the two of them were sitting on a blanket on the lawn eating a picnic with him, Betsy, and Tom, while Rebecca Braddock tried her hardest to play catch with Bobby Drake. Bobby was cheating, of course, by adding small fins of ice to the ball they were using, so that it pitched at odd angles and rarely flew straight – and by the time Rebecca got to it, the fins had obviously melted, so Bobby could claim that he was just throwing brilliantly.

_Typical Bobby,_ Jean found herself thinking with a faint smile, despite everything that had just happened. As she and Scott reached the door of the boathouse, Scott said "I want the rest of the team to know about this as soon as possible. I was thinking I might just ask everybody to get together after dinner sometime, and I'd tell them then – just get it over with in one go. Doing it on a one-to-one would take a long time." He laughed ruefully. "I'd probably get better before I got to everybody."

Jean nodded. "I hope so." She closed her hand around the front door's handle, and then pushed it open, before walking into the lounge and sitting down on the sofa. As she did so, she felt an invisible weight settle across her shoulders, pressing her down inexorably into the sofa's soft cushions. She ran her hands through her hair and exhaled briefly, rubbing her fingers across her forehead as if she thought she could pull away every emotion that she could feel brewing inside her skull. Noticing her distress, Scott sat down beside her and put his arms around her gently.

"Hey, now," he said in a soft murmur, running his hands through her hair. "It's okay. Like you said – we'll get through this any way we can."

"Don't leave me, Scott," Jean whispered.

"You know I'd never do that," Scott told her, kissing her on the forehead and hugging her as tightly as he could. "You're stuck with me for a long time yet. Sorry."

"You need to work on your sense of humour," Jean said with a brittle laugh, wiping her eyes with her handkerchief. "You never were any good at making jokes."

"Maybe I can get Bobby to teach me?" Scott suggested. "I'm going to have a lot more free time these days – I might as well fill it with something productive." He paused, took a deep breath and continued "Could you call Rebecca in to see us, Jean? I think she should be the first person we tell."

"Why Rebecca?" Jean asked, suddenly puzzled. "Why not Bobby or Warren?"

"Because as much as I might pretend otherwise, Rebecca's the only genetic relative I have here," Scott explained. "I know she's legally and emotionally Warren's kid – believe me, I remind myself of that every day – but I figure blood is thicker than friendship, just this once. She deserves to know about this, just like Nathan, Rachel and Nate all deserve to know."

"Okay," Jean agreed, sniffing back some persistent tears and putting her fingers to her temples. _Rebecca?_ she asked telepathically. _Could you come to the boathouse for a little while, please, sweetie? Scott and I need to talk to you about something._

Two minutes later, Rebecca knocked at the door and Scott stood up to let her in, giving her as wide a smile as he could muster. "Hi, Rebecca," he said. "Good to see you."

"Hey, you two," Rebecca replied brightly, an instant before her telepathy notified her that something was amiss. "Why am I here?" she asked when she'd had an opportunity to taste the negative emotions hanging in the air like poison gas. "It obviously can't be anything good, or I wouldn't be getting the impressions I'm getting. Come on – spill it."

Scott and Jean exchanged one short glance, and then Scott reached out with one hand and led Rebecca to the sofa in the lounge. He waited until she had seated herself and then sat down next to her, still holding her hand as he did so. "I had… some bad news today, Rebecca," he said. "I have… I have a brain tumour. Hank is going to start treating me for it, but he says that may not work. There's a big possibility I may die from this." Before he'd finished speaking, Rebecca had put a hand to her mouth in shock, and Scott could see her shaking her head ever so slightly, as if she couldn't quite process what she'd just heard.

"No," she said. "There must be some mistake, Scott – there has to be. You're too young for cancer, aren't you?"

"That's what the statistics say, but cancer doesn't always listen to them," Scott told her gently. "It doesn't care about statistics. I've got it now, and it's not going to go away without treatment. I want you to know I'm going to fight this, Rebecca – I have too much to live for here. I want to see you and Sam get married. I want to see Hannah grow up." He smiled a small, strained little smile then, suddenly amused by something. "And I want to see Bishop finally start moonwalking."

Rebecca burst out laughing then, wiping at her tears with the back of her hand. "You'll live forever at that rate," she said, before she leaned forwards and put her arms around Scott, hugging him to her like a child hugging a favourite teddy bear. "I love you, Uncle Scott."

Scott smiled, and kissed her on the forehead affectionately. "I love you too, Rebecca. Everything's going to work out fine, you'll see."

* * *

Rebecca Braddock sat cross-legged on the edge of her bed. It had long since passed midnight, and the stars were sending bright lances of light down from a cloudless sky, but Rebecca hadn't noticed that the world had gone dark around her; she'd been doing this since before Sam had joined her for bed, and had taken only a few moments of sleep after that, shutting out every other distraction so that she could have total focus.

Once again she raised her glazed eyes to the ceiling and mouthed words – words that she was also broadcasting on every telepathic wavelength she could detect. Words which she hoped wouldn't stick in her gut like a knife. Words which she hoped wouldn't make her sick.

Again she mouthed them. _I need you,_ she sent. _Help me… Father._


	2. Daddy's Girl

**_Pennies From Heaven:_**

**_Chapter Two: Daddy's Girl_**

Jean Grey-Summers watched, cautiously, as Scott Summers let the sun energise him for the first time in days. They were taking a slow, gentle walk through the gardens of the Xavier Institute, and simply watching life happen around them. Here a squirrel darted across the lawn with a determined air, there a bird tugged a worm out of the earth to feed its hatchlings, and on the lake the groups of ducks were conducting their usual routine of feeding and grooming. Scott smiled. "I like this," he said. "It's a nice distraction. We should do it more often."

Jean nodded. "Yes, I think we should, too. We don't often get the chance with everything we have to deal with, do we?"

Scott held up the cane that Betsy had leant him, in order to help him keep his balance. "I just wish I didn't have to use this, you know?"

"I know," Jean agreed, raising her eyebrows. "Just think of it as something you can use if I don't behave myself." She winked, making Scott laugh out loud. Jean waited for him to wince in pain, but it didn't come. Perhaps the painkillers Hank had pumped Scott with, and her own psychic ministrations, were working today. She hoped so.

"I'll bear that in mind," Scott said, as brightly as he could. "I might take you up on that if you'd agree to wear that costume I got you."

"For the last time, Scott," Jean said, rolling her eyes, "I'm not going to dress up like She-Hulk." Scott began to say something, but she cut him off before he could get any further. "Or the Wasp – or like any female Avenger."

"Spoilsport," Scott said, doing his best to look severely aggrieved. "I'd dress up like Captain America if you asked me, you know. We both know you have a thing for him."

"I do _not_ have a 'thing' for Captain America," Jean retorted, with a smile. "Hawkeye, on the other hand… oh my. I could do naughty things to that man."

Scott held up a hand, and tilted his head to one side, as if he was confused by something. "Wait, wait… so if we broke up, we'd both go to Avengers Mansion for a rebound fling? And you don't think that wouldn't end up being just a _touch_ awkward? We'd have to co-ordinate our dates around each other, just so we didn't have to have one of those embarrassing discussions about how our lives are going."

"Just as well we won't be breaking up, then, isn't it?" Jean chuckled, digging at Scott's ribs with her left hand. Scott pulled one side of his mouth up in a half-smile, and touched Jean's cheek with his fingers. Raising her hand to cover them, Jean leaned into it and closed her eyes. "I love you," she whispered.

"Love you too, Wasp-lady," Scott replied, and then glanced at his watch while Jean was busy giving him an evil-eyed glare. "Hey, it's nearly ten – Hank's going to be wondering where I am." Jean twisted her face into a frustrated scowl. Ten o'clock in the morning generally meant Scott was due for another radiotherapy treatment, and that in turn meant he would be tired and unable to do a lot for a good while afterwards. She'd seen it enough over the past few days to realise that, and she didn't enjoy knowing that no matter what she did, she couldn't prevent that. For all her power, Scott's exhaustion and headaches could only be treated so much – beyond that, she was totally unable to help him, and that feeling of impotence really got to her.

Still, Scott didn't need to know that, so Jean forced a thin smile and nodded towards the mansion. "Well, we'd better get back then, hadn't we?" she said, more cheerfully than she'd thought possible, and started back towards the mansion, Scott's hand clasped in hers. While they were walking back to the back door, Scott tightened his grip on her fingers enough for Jean to take notice. "What is it?" she asked, hoping he wasn't going to collapse on the lawn.

"Nothing," he said, apparently still concentrating on walking and co-ordinating his stick at the same time. "I just… I'm glad you're here, that's all."

"Well, I don't have anywhere else to be," Jean said, returning his hand's tight grip as much as she could. "Now come on – you know how Hank doesn't like to be kept waiting…"

* * *

The sound of what Jean thought was a muffled sonic boom alerted her that something wasn't right inside the mansion – and sure enough, when she and Scott entered the building, she saw that the Marauders were arrayed in a battle formation inside the foyer, with their leader, Mr Sinister, at their head. Crouched at his side was the clone of Jean's "niece" Rebecca, who had apparently decided to make herself as conspicuously different from her "sister" as possible: her arms were decorated with long, snaking tattoos that coiled around her whipcord muscles like vines around tree-roots, and her close-cropped hair had been dyed with streaks of a deep crimson colour, as if she had painted it with fingers dipped in blood. She grinned crazily as she saw Jean and Scott enter the room, and Jean saw that her legs had tensed instinctively, as if she were ready to throw herself at her "sister", who was standing in front of several X-Men and associated residents of the mansion – her mother and father, Wolverine, Bishop, Nightcrawler, Doctor Reyes, Cannonball, Rogue, her girlfriend Jenny Franklin, Iceman, and the White Queen – and apparently stopping them from attacking. Every one of them was fixed in place, unmoving and silent. Jean could feel Rebecca's telepathic energy holding them that way without much trouble, and again she wondered just how powerful her "niece" really was. Right now didn't seem like a good time to ponder that question, however; she wanted to be sure that Scott could handle this additional stress without keeling over, so she concentrated on keeping his pain centres sedated, and hoped that that would be enough. 

"Hello, Scott," Sinister said politely, in the icy knives-scratching-on-china voice he used so skilfully, and bowing genteelly at the waist as he did so. "It's so nice to finally be _invited_ into your lovely home. I do like what you've done with the place."

"Invited?" Scott asked, stunned. "By who?"

Sinister raised an eyebrow. "Did I raise you so badly, my boy? Surely you can at least take a guess, can't you?" Then he looked over at Rebecca and smiled an executioner's smile. "Shall we get started, my dear?"

As Scott watched, he saw a visible shudder run through Rebecca's body, and suddenly he realised what she was doing. "No," he cried. "Rebecca, don't do this!"

Rebecca glanced over at him with tortured eyes. _I have to,_ she told him telepathically, f_or your sake._ Then she walked slowly over to where Sinister was standing, and knelt before him, bowing her head deeply as she did so. "Welcome… father," she whispered, and Scott could see the words almost visibly catching in her throat, as if she might choke on them.

"Good girl," Sinister said, placing one of his gloved hands on her head, and Scott saw her shiver again, as if she had been coated with liquid nitrogen. "Now, then – Scott, I hear from my daughter here that you're slightly under the weather. She asked me to help you as much as I could."

"In return for what?" Scott hissed. "I swear, you monster, if you hurt her, I'll –"

"I doubt you'll do much of anything, Scott," Sinister retorted, without missing a beat. "My child filled me in on your symptoms, and from what I've heard, you're not exactly fighting fit, now are you?" The sliced strips of Sinister's cape fluttered out behind him as he stalked forwards and looked Scott right in the eye, giving Jean only a cursory glance as he did so. "You have cancer, my boy, and I assure you one thing: any exertion on your part will do far more harm to you than it will to me." The ghoulish look on his face faded for a moment, and he sighed. "Scott, for once I'm asking you to accept my assistance for what it is: a magnanimous gesture. I know this must be hard for you to accept, but you are my favourite son, and I will do anything in my power to keep you alive." Scott began to reply, but once again Sinister cut him off. "As for Rebecca… she asked for my help because she knew I am your… how did she put it? Oh yes, I remember now: she knew I am your best hope. She begged me to forgive her for deserting me, and to do her this service. So you see, Scott, I am here both by request, and because I wish to help."

Scott looked at Rebecca, who had got up off the floor and was now standing and cradling her baby in order to quiet Hannah's insistent mewling. "Is this true?"

Rebecca nodded, hanging her head. "Every word," she said in a voice so soft Scott could barely hear it.

Scott felt something painful crack inside him, and he was fairly sure it wasn't the tumour. "Why?" was all he could manage to say.

"Because I love you," Rebecca said, sniffing back a couple of tears, her scarlet eyes glittering with moisture. "You're family. What else was I supposed to do?"

"You see, Scott?" Sinister chuckled. "I _do_ tell the truth from time to time, no matter what you might think."

"What does he want, Rebecca?" Scott said, ignoring Sinister's shark-like smile. "He never does something for nothing – ever. What does he want?"

Sinister scoffed at the accusation, obviously thinking it as ridiculous as if Scott had stated that the moon was made of cream cheese and onion rings. "My dear boy, do you mistrust me that much? Let's call this a 'gentlemen's agreement', shall we? I don't want anything from Rebecca, for today at least. She and her child don't concern me at present; I have larger problems than one girl and her baby – I shan't burden you with those problems, but suffice to say they dwarf this little armchair melodrama. Perhaps I may change my mind in the future, and ask her to do a service for me, but for now, you may consider this my gift." He held out his gloved hand. "Come. I'm offering you a truce, Scott – at least for now."

All at once, Scott became acutely aware of the muted and frozen X-Men's eyes drilling into him, as if they were willing him not to make the decision he knew he had to make. Tentatively, he extended the hand that wasn't holding his cane, and clasped Sinister's fingers in a muted handshake. "Agreed," he began, "on one condition."

"Oh?" Sinister looked surprised. "And what is that?"

"That you never come near Rebecca again," Scott replied flatly. "I don't want you hurting her any longer."

Sinister laughed, a sound that scraped against Scott's ears like razor blades. "I must say, Scott… your bargaining posture is highly dubious, but very well: you have my word as a gentleman and a scholar that I will not bother Rebecca again." He glanced over to where Rebecca was standing, and gave her a brief smile. "Adieu, my dear – unless and until you decide otherwise, of course." Ignoring Scott's hate-filled gaze, Sinister gestured towards one of the concealed elevators that led down to the med-lab. "Shall we?" Striding over to the wooden panelling that hid the doorway, he stroked his gloved fingers against the switch that would cause the door to reveal itself. Looking back at Scott, and the rest of the assembled, frozen X-Men, Sinister simply smiled. "I'm shocked," he said, taking in their surprised expressions in one glance. "Surely you didn't expect me not to have done my research on this house?"

"Where you're concerned, Sinister," Scott began, as he began to feel faint twinges in his skull becoming pronounced pains (despite Jean's best efforts), "I don't know why anything you do surprises me anymore."

"Good lad," Sinister replied, an oddly impressed edge coming into his nails-on-a-chalkboard voice. "You make me proud."

* * *

Hank turned to face the doors of the med-lab as they hissed gently open, and smiled as Scott and Jean walked through. His smile turned to a fang-toothed snarl as he saw Sinister following them, but Scott held up a hand to stop him from attacking. "It's all right, Hank – he's here to help." 

"In all my years, Scott, I have never known that man to help anybody except himself," Hank retorted, his hands balling into fists as he did so. "You ought to be careful he doesn't stab you in the back – he'll try anything to get his hands on more of your DNA, after all."

"It's okay, Hank, really," Jean insisted. "Believe me, I'm just as uncomfortable about this as you are, but we're going to have to trust him for now."

"Indeed you are, Dr McCoy," Sinister began. "I can give you an edge here that you sorely need. I suggest you co-operate."

"Well, I _suggest_, good sir, that you do not suggest I do anything," Hank snapped angrily. "I shall only work with you because two of my oldest friends asked it of me. Left to my own devices, I would die before I even shared laboratory notes with a butcher like yourself."

"Objection duly noted, doctor," Sinister said without missing a beat. He strode forwards and picked up Hank's notes without waiting for them to be offered, and began leafing through them briskly. "Interesting," he continued, more to himself than anyone else. "What treatments have you tried so far?"

"Scott has begun a course of radiotherapy," Hank replied, "and I was considering starting a course of chemotherapy to complement it, but –"

"Don't," Sinister said simply, while still engrossed in the notes. "I believe we can defeat this thing without it." Then he pointed at the long chair that Scott usually sat in for his radiotherapy treatments, and said "Sit down, Scott. Let me examine you."

Reluctantly, still holding Jean's hand as if it were a comfort blanket, Scott eased himself into the chair and waited for the crimson scanning beam of Hank's machines to run over him. When they had done so, Sinister pored over the results with avid interest, with one hand at his chin as if he were examining train timetables, or something equally innocuous. "Hmm. This wasn't what I wanted to see," he muttered, before turning to Hank and saying "The cancer is spreading, isn't it?"

"Yes, I'm afraid it is," Hank said sadly, before he turned to Scott and Jean and shook his head. "I wasn't absolutely sure about this until a few days ago, Scott, but this seems to be confirmation – the cancerous cells seem to be just as affected by sunlight as your normal cells, and as such they are growing and multiplying at an exponential rate: every time you go outside, they take another giant leap forwards. I'm afraid this means you'll probably have to be confined to the med-lab from now on – if we can isolate and eliminate at least one of the tumour's main sources of energy, it's a good start."

"Can't you build some kind of damping unit?" Jean suggested, crossing her fingers mentally. "Maybe if the cancer couldn't absorb the solar energy, Scott wouldn't need to stay here, would he?"

Hank considered the idea for a moment or two, and Jean could see him weighing up the pros and cons in his head. "It's a good idea, I suppose." Then he looked back over to where Sinister was standing calmly, his arms folded and his posture relaxed. "Could you do that?"

"Child's play," Sinister said, with a thin smile. Jean knew that was simple bravado, and she thought she could sense a flash of irritation on Sinister's part that she had been the one to suggest such a thing, rather than he himself. "Leave it to me." He gestured to a side room, and continued "I trust I can use this room as a workshop?"

"Knock yourself out," Scott said through pursed lips. Jean could feel his discomfort at this whole situation getting more and more palpable, and she didn't like the way it was pressing against her end of their psychic rapport.

_Are you okay? _she asked him telepathically, already having some idea of what the answer was going to be.

_Not really,_ Scott replied. _This situation is just getting worse and worse, isn't it?_

_Hey, it could be worse,_ Jean began, hoping to lighten Scott's mood. _At least Apocalypse isn't knocking on the front door._

Scott smiled briefly and brushed her face with his fingers. _You realise that you've practically just _asked_ him to do that, don't you?_

_Yeah. It'd be fun, right?_ Winking, Jean took his hand away from her cheek and squeezed it gently. _Don't worry, sweetheart. This is going to work out, I promise._

_I wish I had your confidence, Jean,_ Scott sighed. _Some days you find yourself wishing you hadn't got out of bed, you know? This is shaping up to be one of those days…_

* * *

A day or so later, Sinister emerged from the side room, and held up a small flexible bracelet that looked studded from clip to clip with intricate technology. "Here, Scott," he began, "this ought to help. It generates a dampening field that should neutralise your powers completely, and prevent your body metabolising sunlight." He handed Scott the bracelet and watched proudly as Scott took it, slipped it over his right wrist and clipped it closed. "Now, with your powers neutralised," Sinister continued, "you should be able to remove your glasses. Why don't you give it a try?" 

"I'd rather wait until you're not around, if that's all right," Scott replied, at which Sinister rolled his scarlet eyes and spread his hands wide, like a father expecting an embrace from a favourite child.

"Come now, Scott. After I've spent so much time here, don't you think the time for surprise attacks has long passed me by? I just want to see my favourite son's eyes, that's all. Is that so bad?"

"Do it for me, Scott, if you won't do it for him," Jean interrupted, sensing the situation might turn sour at any moment. "I get to see your face far too rarely as it is. And you have a nice face, so you can understand why I get so annoyed."

"Okay, Jean," Scott said. "Since you asked so nicely… here goes nothing." Reaching up, he gently unhooked his glasses from his ears and pulled them free of his nose, folding the arms shut and placing them in the breast pocket of his shirt. Then, tentatively, he opened his eyes.

Jean realised she'd flinched instinctively just after she noticed that she hadn't been flung halfway across the room by ruby-coloured energy. Scott blinked a couple of times to make sure that he wasn't seeing things, and then laughed a free and easy laugh, the kind that Jean so very rarely heard from him.

"You're welcome," Sinister said without turning to look at his surrogate son, a lopsided smile spreading across his pale face. Then he glanced at Jean. "I trust this is what you were looking for, Miss Grey?"

"Very much," Jean whispered. "Thank… thank you." She was surprised when she didn't feel the words sticking in her throat, as she had expected them to.

"When it comes to helping my favourite son, madam, it's always a pleasure, and never a chore." Sinister bowed at the waist, apparently basking in her gratitude, before he started walking away from the three X-Men. "I'll show myself out."

"What?" Hank said, incredulous. "You're leaving, just like that?"

Sinister stopped in the doorway of the med-lab, his voluminous cape fluttering slightly in the faint breeze created by the mansion's air-conditioning system. "I am," he stated simply. "For what it's worth, Dr McCoy, your strategy of using regular radiotherapy treatments ought to be far more successful without the cancer feeding off sunlight every time Scott goes outside to watch the world go by. And of course, you may rest assured that if things take a turn for the worse, you know how to contact me again."

"Rebecca," Hank said softly, at which Sinister smiled wickedly and nodded.

"Exactly. You may consider her your hotline to my helpdesk, if you will – if you need me, she will be able to find me without any problems." Sinister paused and nodded briefly towards Scott. "Goodbye, my boy. Be well."

Then, just like that, he was gone, the booming sound of a closing tesseract ringing around the interior of the mansion's lower levels. Jean looked at Scott and asked "You wouldn't –"

"Of course I wouldn't, Jean," Scott replied shortly. "Rebecca doesn't deserve that." He took a deep breath, and pointed towards the elevator with an outstretched thumb. "You think we should go and share my new look with the rest of the team?"

"Your new look?" Jean repeated, before Scott's meaning slowly sank in. "Oh - _oh_. Sure, why not? I don't think many of them have ever seen you without your glasses, after all."

"Much as I hate to break up the festivities, Scott," Hank said, cracking his furry knuckles and picking up his clipboard, "I don't believe you've had your radiotherapy treatment for today. It won't take long…"

* * *

Scott trudged back to the boathouse, hoping to get some peace and quiet after the busy day. The stick he'd borrowed from Betsy was helping him up to a point, but it was still a tiring walk – the radiotherapy really took it out of him, and he didn't enjoy it one bit. He wished Jean were here to help him, but she had gone back to the boathouse while he and Hank were busy in the med-lab, having bailed on the two of them with the venerable "things to do" excuse. Scott made a mental note to pay her back for that one at some point in the future, and pushed open the door of the house. "Honey? I'm finished with my treatment for today," he called, expecting to hear her reply from the kitchen or lounge. 

Instead, he heard her call "I'm just drying my hair!" from their bedroom, and climbed up the boathouse's one short flight of stairs so that he could get to it. He pushed open the door to their bedroom…

… and almost had a heart attack at what he saw inside it. Jean was naked and lying on top of the bed, but that wasn't the surprising thing. The surprising thing was that she was covered from head to foot in green greasepaint, and her hair was dyed a deep emerald. "Jean… I don't understand –" he began.

"Isn't it obvious? She-Hulk is going to smash you, Hawkeye," Jean purred, before she pointed to a neatly-folded Hawkeye costume that was placed on the bed next to her. "I think you're supposed to say 'Avengers Assemble!' now, by the way – don't make me regret this." She winked, and just like that, all of Scott's pain melted away.

"Avengers Assemble," he said. "I love you."

"Then prove it, Hawkeye," Jean chuckled. "Show me I didn't Hulk-up for nothing…"


	3. Old Friends, New Views

_**Pennies From Heaven**_

_**Chapter Three: Old Friends, New Views**_

Scott Summers knocked on Bobby Drake's door. "Bobby? You in there?" There was a muffled fumbling behind the thick wood, and Scott smiled through the faint headache that was his ever-present companion these days as he thought he heard not one but two sets of footsteps rushing around on the antique floorboards.

"Just a minute!" Bobby cried out, in a panicky sort of way, and Scott heard the thump of something being thrown around. He guessed it was a pile of clothes, and he thought that it was highly likely that Bobby was frantically throwing something on so that he wouldn't embarrass himself in front of one of his best friends. And Scott also thought it was very likely that if Bobby wasn't alone in there, then Emma Frost would be taking her sweet time to get dressed and making sure not to look worried about another man seeing her nakedness. Scott had got to know Emma well enough since she and Bobby had been together that he thought he could guess her reactions pretty well by now, but it still made him smile to see two such different people so happy together.

"It's okay, Bobby – you and Emma can take your time getting decent. I've got all morning," Scott teased, which caused Bobby to open his door and poke his head through the small gap he'd created, a wide-eyed look on his face.

"Dude, if you could see what's in here, you'd want to clear it up quickly, too," he said in a rushed tone.

"Bobby," Scott said slowly, feeling a laugh building deep in his gut, "I know this is supposed to be a house of acceptance and all, but you may just want to take that dog collar off before you go downstairs. Jean might want to know if she can teach you to sit up and beg for your breakfast, after all."

Bobby blinked. "What collar?" Then slow, horrible realisation dawned on his face, and he ducked back inside his room, yelling "Emma! You told me this thing was off!" as he did so. Scott released the laugh then, not able to hold it in any more, and leaned against Bobby's door frame until the convulsions stopped.

Ten minutes later, Bobby emerged from his room fully dressed, although a little embarrassed. He pointed at Scott with a deadly serious expression on his flushed-pink face, and said "You don't mention this to anybody, Scott. I'm serious. I don't need Wolverine asking me if he can take me for walkies."

Scott held up a hand. "It's okay, Bobby, really. What you and Emma do in your bedroom is your own business. It goes no further."

"Thanks, man," Bobby said, running both hands through his tousled hair and letting out a relieved breath. Before Scott could reply, though, Emma made her way through the door, wearing only a white dressing gown with the logo "EF" embroidered onto the left breast.

"Hello, Scott," she purred. "You're well this morning, I hope?" Then she winked at Bobby, and sauntered past him towards the staircase, like a panther taking a morning stroll. "I'll see you downstairs, Lassie."

"'Lassie'?" Scott repeated, in disbelief.

Bobby nodded. "Like I said: you don't tell _anybody_, all right?" Then he took a deep breath and tugged the bottom edge of his shirt down to smooth out some creases. "So what can I do for you, man? You just name it, and –"

"Don't worry, Bobby, I'm not after any favours," Scott interjected smoothly. "I just… wanted to spend a little time with you, as a friend. It's been too long since the two of us did that, don't you think?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess it has been," Bobby replied, raising his eyebrows briefly. "Come on in, and I'll find you a seat." He pushed open the door and held it for as long as it took Scott to walk through (he was still finding the cane hard work, but Scott was confident that he'd have it working with him, not against him, before long), and then pulled out a chair from the desk in the corner. Scott eased himself into it and propped his stick against its side, while Bobby sat himself down on the edge of the double bed. "What did you want to talk to me about?" Bobby asked.

"Oh, the usual stuff," Scott replied. "How's everything going with Emma, for one thing? You two seem to be getting on like a house on fire."

"Aside from the fact that she sometimes makes me want to curl up into a ball and hide in a corner? Things are going great," Bobby laughed, pointing to the photo frame on his side of the bed. It showed Bobby and Emma posed together in the garden, with an uncharacteristic smile splashed across Emma's normally icy face. "I think she's happy for once, don't you? Really happy." His eyes misted over for a second or two. "I wish she'd smile like that more, though. Most of the time I have to work really hard just to get one of those 'I'm humouring you because I want you to shut up' sort of smiles, but that one… it just made that whole day worth it, right then and there." He paused, looking back at the photo for a second or two before he continued. "I really love her, Scott. I've never felt this way about anyone before. I mean, she drives me totally nuts, but I wouldn't change her for the world."

"So," Scott began, "would you ever think about… well, you know… asking her to make a more permanent commitment?"

Bobby coughed. "You mean ask her to _marry_ me? God, no." He noticed Scott's surprised expression then, and waved one hand dismissively, as if to allay all of Scott's fears with a single gesture. "Emma and I already talked about that a while back, and we agreed that marriage wasn't something either of us wanted to do right now." He shrugged. "We're just not you and Jean, Scott. Hell, we're not even Warren and Betsy – we're just _us_. This is how we want to be at this point."

"Then I'm happy for you," Scott replied, honestly. "That's all you can really ask from a relationship, I guess." Then he nodded towards the computer in the corner of the room, which still had its screen illuminated. "Been writing something?"

Bobby nodded sheepishly. "Yeah. This is a message board called 'Docking Bay 94'. Three guesses as to what it's about – and the first two don't count."

"Doesn't Emma object to you having this in the corner all the time?" Scott asked. "I mean, I wouldn't have thought she'd like that sort of movie."

"Well, that's where you'd be wrong, Scott," Bobby said, snapping his fingers triumphantly. "Emma loves _Star Wars_. We watch the movies in bed a lot these days; Emma likes me to pretend I'm Han Solo."

"You know, somehow that doesn't surprise me," Scott replied, laughing as he put a hand to his forehead to try and block out the image that just popped into his head. "You've always been the type to play along, haven't you, Bobby?"

"Of course," Bobby chuckled. "It's no fun if you don't, is it?" Then his face took on a more serious expression, and he continued "Scott… much as I'd love to carry on talking about this, I'm getting the feeling that you didn't really come here to shoot the breeze and ask me about my sex life and weird internet habits. What do you _really_ want to talk about? I may not be Emma, Jean or Betsy, but I can still tell when a guy has a lot on his mind. So spill it, man – what gives?"

Scott took a deep breath, before glancing up at the ceiling for a moment or two. Then he rubbed at his eyes and closed both hands over the top of his stick. "Bobby… I just wanted to hang out with one of my oldest friends, that's all. I don't get to do that all that often these days, so any opportunity I get is a good one. And given that I have cancer, well… let's just say that goofing off with you suddenly becomes a lot more special, because I may not get to do it for much longer."

"Don't talk like that, man," Bobby said. "You _can't_ die – I mean, you're _Cyclops_. You've escaped everything else. Whatever happened to 'X-Men spit in the face of death'?"

"Everybody dies, Bobby," Scott replied calmly. "We don't get to choose how or why. What matters is how we spend the time we get before it happens. Which is why I want you to do something for me: if the worst does come to the worst, I want you to promise me – _promise _me – that you'll look after Jean."

"You should know you don't even have to ask that, Scott," Bobby said, sounding slightly hurt. "Look: whatever happens, you don't have to worry about Jean. She's got enough friends here that she'll be able to talk, if she wants to talk, and enough people willing to lend her a shoulder to cry on if she doesn't. Nobody's going to let her suffer by herself, man – you have my word on that, I promise."

"Thanks, Bobby. That makes me feel a lot better." Scott rubbed the bridge of his nose briefly, still expecting to feel his ruby-quartz glasses resting there. He felt curiously exposed without them, even if it meant that he got to see the world without a red tint to it for the first time in what seemed like forever.

Bobby shrugged, totally composed again. "Hey, it's what I'm here for. I mean, why make life harder than it absolutely has to be, right?"

"I guess you have a point there," Scott replied, before he nodded towards the computer again. "How about we surf the net for a while? I've been meaning to find that new Fleetwood Mac compilation album – maybe you could help me with that?"

"Man, you have the absolute _worst_ taste in music of anyone I've ever met, you know that?" Bobby laughed. "Hold on, I'll get Google up in a minute, and we'll see what we can come up with…"

* * *

Jean Grey walked slowly down to the edge of Breakstone Lake, following the telepathic glow of the person she had wanted to talk to for a while now. Even from here, Jean could see that Ororo was swimming, powerful kicks propelling her slender form forwards while her arms knifed through the clear water. Jean could feel that her friend was trying very hard to take her mind off the current situation, and for an instant she hesitated, wondering if she really wanted to come out here and burden Ororo with her own private problems. Just then, she saw that Ororo had noticed her, and was waving to her with one arm. She waved back, already feeling uplifted, and sat down heavily next to the towel that Ororo had laid on the thick green grass.

"Hello, Jean," Ororo said kindly as she emerged from the water and began drying herself off. "You look well this morning."

"Thanks," Jean replied, stretching and trying to find a comfortable spot on the ground. "I don't feel all that great, but it's nice to know I can fake it, anyway."

Ororo tipped her head sideways a little. "I suppose that's understandable," she said softly, before she reached over and took hold of Jean's left hand. "You do know that you can talk about it if you need to, don't you?"

Jean pulled one side of her mouth up and laughed quietly. "I appreciate the offer, Ororo – thank you again." She paused, running her hands through her hair for a moment or two. "It's weird, you know? I'm a telepath – I'm _supposed_ to be able to work with emotions like nobody else, but with this…" She sighed. "I don't really know what to say. Scott's closer to dying than he's ever been, and I can't say anything that's going to make you understand how it feels just to watch him go through it by himself. Time was, I could just wave my hand and everything would be fixed – but now? I might as well be wearing that bracelet Scott's got on, for all the good these powers are doing me. I feel so helpless, Ororo, and I hate it."

Ororo laughed, a soft, delicate sound, and tucked a wayward lock of silvery hair behind her ear. "You of all people should know what Scott values the most, Jean – and you of all people should know that Scott _isn't_ going through this alone." She patted Jean's hand gently and nodded towards the mansion. "A few days ago, Scott told me that you give him the strength he needs to continue this treatment. He said that he thinks of you whenever the pain gets too much for him to bear." Ororo chuckled. "He especially likes to think of you dressed up as She-Hulk, apparently."

"Figures," Jean replied, sighing and rolling her eyes. "I do one little thing for him and he blows it all out of proportion. Typical male." She raised her eyebrows briefly. "Well, that's his private Christmas present gone for this year, I can tell you."

"Perhaps you could pass it along to me, then?" Ororo asked. "I'm sure David would appreciate it."

"David?" Jean said, momentarily puzzled before she caught on to who Ororo was talking about. "Oh – _your_ David. You know, you really should bring him home so we can meet him one of these days, Ororo; I know Scott and I want to meet him – and I'm sure we could convince Betsy, Warren, Bobby and Emma to all drop in and say hi as well. What's stopping you?"

"David is… well, he's not like some of the other men I've had relationships with," Ororo began hesitantly. "He's blind, for one thing."

"He's blind?" Jean repeated thoughtfully. "I guess that means he didn't just take one look at you and decide he wanted you to be his queen, then?"

"Very funny," Ororo replied disdainfully, before she brightened and clasped her fingers together around one bent knee. "No, he didn't. He smelled some of that perfume you loaned to me, and decided I was interesting enough to come and talk to. We went from there, and we've kept going ever since. As a matter of fact, I'm taking him to an open-air concert in Central Park next week."

"An open-air concert?" Jean asked, intrigued. "Who's playing? Don't tell me you've been stealing Bobby's Led Zeppelin CDs…"

"Thankfully not," Ororo smiled. "No, David and I are going to see the New York Philharmonic perform a medley of classical tunes, and then we're going to go for dinner afterwards. Hopefully it ought to be an entertaining evening."

"I hope it is, too," Jean answered, putting one hand to her chin in thought. "I might ask Scott if he'd like to tag along – that is, if you don't mind a double date, of course?"

"Jean, I'd be delighted if you and Scott could join us," Ororo said, and then she leaned over and embraced Jean warmly. "I'm sure David wouldn't mind, either – recently he's been pestering me to let him meet the rest of you, but you can understand why I didn't exactly want him to come to the mansion. I'd hate for introductions to turn into a flight for cover, after all."

"Well, there is that, I guess," Jean said. "I don't think even canapés would make up for Stryfe showing up and destroying the west wing."

"Don't even joke about such things, Jean," Ororo admonished her. "If anything like that happens, I'll know who to blame."

"I'm sure you will," Jean laughed, before she looked at her watch, snapped her fingers in frustration, and then pushed herself to her feet. "Sorry, Ororo, I'd love to stay a little longer, but I have to go – Scott's got his latest radio session in about fifteen minutes, and I need to be there. You understand, don't you?"

"Absolutely, Jean," Ororo said with a nod. She stood herself then, her lithe slender body still faintly glistening with a few drops of lake water, and she draped her towel around her neck. "I need to be getting back to the mansion as well – I have a session in the Danger Room with my team in half an hour. Do you mind if I walk with you a while?"

"No, not at all," Jean said, secretly relieved that she would have company a little while longer. "Please do. Perhaps you can tell me more about David on the way?"

"Ah, I see – you have an ulterior motive after all," Ororo said, arching an eyebrow. "I should have known better. Very well – physically, David is about my height, with dark brown hair and blue eyes. He doesn't tan very well, though, so his skin is always very pale."

"So he's a white guy, then?" Jean asked. "Nothing too exotic this time?"

Ororo chuckled. "Where I'm concerned, Jean, I think a normal, non-powered man _is_ exotic. At least he hasn't asked me to assist him in conquering an entire dimension so far. I think that's a positive sign, don't you?"

"I suppose you're right," Jean replied, barely suppressing a smile. "But if he turns out to be a Skrull warlord or a Phalanx impostor out to rule the world, I reserve the right to say 'I told you so', all right?"

"I don't doubt it," Ororo said. "I've known you long enough to know that for certain."

The two women walked on a little farther, watching the activity on the lawn with great interest. Jean pointed out her "niece" Rebecca sitting out on the grass, feeding her baby Hannah from a bottle and enjoying the sunshine before it turned into rain, and Ororo laughed as she saw Kurt rapidly teleporting his way around a makeshift baseball diamond, causing the others in the game to hoot with protest. At this point, the women agreed, "no powers allowed" had practically become an invitation to use them. "Perhaps we should just tell everybody to use them right from the beginning. Then we'd see less rule-breaking," Jean suggested. "If it's not against the rules, then people wouldn't do it."

"That's a very good point, Jean," Ororo agreed. "Perhaps I shall bring it up the next time we play basketball, and see where it gets us?"

"Nowhere fast, I'd imagine," Jean replied dryly. Then she nodded towards the door of the mansion. "I'm heading indoors now. You want to keep walking, seeing as we're really heading the same way?"

"Certainly, Jean," Ororo smiled. She reached out and pushed the back door open with a whisper of a gust of wind, making the old oak creak on its hinges, and proceeded indoors. Jean followed her as she walked towards one of the nearest secret elevator access points, brushing her fingers against the concealed button that allowed them into the elevator itself. The panelled wood hissed aside, revealing a pristinely white, almost circular elevator car. Jean nudged the button for the lowest level with a telekinetic touch, and felt the car start moving downwards smoothly.

"I hate this part," she murmured. "I really hate it."

"I know," Ororo replied, her voice soft. "I don't think you'd be normal if you didn't." Then she reached out and gently drew Jean to her. "I swear by the Goddess herself that everything will be all right. Don't start grieving yet, Jean – it doesn't suit you." Delicately, she kissed Jean on the cheek. "I'll be here later if you'd like to talk some more, all right?"

"Thanks, Ororo," Jean said gratefully. "I may just take you up on that offer."

"I look forward to it." Ororo gestured down the corridor towards the Danger Room. "I suppose I had better start the warm-up programme. I'll see you later, Jean." A moment later she was gone, and Jean was alone in the passageway. She turned towards the med-lab, and began walking towards it purposefully. When she was outside the door, she ran her hands through her hair a couple of times, took a deep breath, and then opened the door, so that she could see Scott sat on one of the beds, ready for his treatment. As soon as their eyes met, Jean smiled.

"Hi, sweetheart," she said, being careful to keep any residual quaver out of her voice. "Ready to get this treatment over and done with?"


	4. Fathers' Day

_**Pennies From Heaven**_

_**Chapter Four: Fathers' Day**_

"Hey, Dad."

Sitting in a chair on the mansion's back porch, Scott Summers looked up from the book he was reading to see his eldest child Nathan Summers standing before him, one gun held down at his side and another resting in its holster on his left hip, his body armour emblazoned with half a dozen red X-motifs. Cable smiled roughly, and shifted the gun in his right hand into his left so he could offer his father a handshake. Scott smiled slightly at that, and instead pulled his son closer so that he could hug him, slapping him gently on the back as he did so. "It's good to see you, son," he said, to a clearly taken-aback Cable. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

"Yeah," Nathan agreed, sitting in the chair next to Scott's after he'd been offered it. "Last time I was here was when I met your new grandchild. How's she doing, anyway?"

"Hannah? Oh, she's fine. She hasn't been kidnapped yet, anyway, so she's getting off to a good start."

Cable laughed. "Seems like kids get a bullseye painted on their chests around here, doesn't it?"

"It does, at that," Scott replied, before he gestured to the mansion's back door. "You want to come in for a beer or something? We've got Coors in the refrigerator – I know you like that one, so I always make sure to keep a six-pack of it just in case you drop by."

"You're really bad at being subtle, Dad," Nathan said with another brief laugh, "but what the hell. X-Force can get by for another few hours without me, I guess." He clapped his father on the shoulder with one scarred hand. "Let's go get drunk, huh?" He followed his father through the back door and into the mansion, and then strode through the halls as Scott led him into the kitchen. As he walked, he twirled a plasma pistol around on one finger absently, before sliding it deftly back into its holster. Scott closed the door as he and his son entered the kitchen, and then opened the refrigerator door and tossed a chilled beer bottle in Cable's direction. Cable caught it without even bothering to track it through the air, and then popped the cap off with the brutally sharp combat knife he carried in a sheath on his chest. Taking a swig, he sat in one of the chairs and put his dusty boots up on the table. "I know Jean's going to kill me for this," he said before Scott could even open his mouth, "but I'm tired and I need to rest, okay?" Then he coughed and gestured towards his father. "How are you holding up, Dad?"

"I'm doing fine, son," Scott said reassuringly. "I get headaches now and again, but Jean and Hank have been doing their best between them to keep the pain away. The radiotherapy is making me really tired, but I know it's doing me good, so I'm putting up with it for now. It's only for a while, anyway." He smiled as he remembered something suddenly. "I thought you'd be pleased to know I've nominated Sam as my squad's leader while I'm out of the game – I thought he deserved it because of the experience you gave to him."

"Kid's a natural leader," Cable agreed, taking a thoughtful sip of his beer. "He'll do fine. I'm proud of him."

"Maybe you should tell him that yourself, little brother," came a voice from the other side of the room. Both Cable and Scott looked up to see Rachel Summers standing in the kitchen door. "Looks like I picked the wrong day to come and visit my sick father. Jean told me she wasn't expecting any visitors today, Nathan – you do realise you've made Mom a liar, don't you?"

"Shut up, squirt," Nathan said as he got up and almost ran to embrace his sister, quickly followed by Scott himself. The three mutants stayed together for a moment or two, enjoying the closeness the embrace brought, before Scott took a deep breath and sat down again.

"I wasn't expecting this," he said, almost redundantly. "Seeing two of my kids at once is almost too much to hope for – you guys are harder to track down than Joe DiMaggio baseball cards."

"Thanks," Cable said, grinning. "That's a real compliment."

Scott scowled only half-seriously. "You know what I mean, Nathan. Sometimes I wish you, Jean and I could be a real family, and not have to rely on telepathy or life-threatening situations to get to know each other. I miss that sort of stuff."

"Yeah. Me too," Cable said quietly. "Don't you, Rachel?"

"Every day," Rachel replied. "It's good to be home, Dad." Just then, she did a double-take and pointed at Scott's face. "Dad – your glasses –"

"I don't need them any more, honey," Scott replied, pointing to the bracelet around his wrist. "This is a power-dampener – Sinister created it for me when he showed up on our doorstep." He saw Cable begin opening his mouth, and waved him quiet. "Don't worry, Nathan – Rebecca invited him here because she was worried about me." He shrugged. "I couldn't believe it either, but it still happened."

"She must have been desperate," Cable said. "From what Rebecca told me, I never expected her to ever go crawling back to Sinister for anything. She obviously loves you far more than she lets on."

"Obviously. I might have to ask Rebecca to get her head examined for that, though." Rachel chuckled softly, before she nudged the refrigerator door open telekinetically and drew out a beer bottle for herself. The cap folded itself in half and then flew over to the bin under the sink, all while Rachel was casually taking a mouthful of the chilly liquid inside. "This is good stuff," she said, after swallowing the beer. "Uncle Logan always did have the best taste in booze."

"That's my favourite, actually," Cable retorted, a little indignantly. "Don't drag it down to the runt's level. He wouldn't know a good case of beer if I hit him in the face with it."

Rachel raised an eyebrow. "Why do I get the feeling you're being completely serious, Nathan?"

"Because he is." For the second time in only a few minutes, a voice came from the kitchen doorway, and all three of the room's occupants turned to see Rebecca Braddock cradling her baby and sporting a wide grin. "Nathan was never all that good at playing make-believe." Then she walked into the kitchen and smiled at Rachel. "You must be Rachel," she said, a little shyly, before she leaned forward and gave her half-sister a hesitant kiss on the cheek. "Nice to meet my sister, finally – Uncle Scott's told me a lot about you."

"Well, 'Uncle Scott' hasn't told me all that much about you, little sister," Rachel said with a wry smile. "But then again, I haven't been around all that much for him to tell me, so I suppose it's unfair to blame him. You're Betsy's daughter, aren't you?"

"Yes, that's right," Rebecca said, nodding. "And genetically, Uncle Scott's my father, but Warren is the person I call Dad – he and Mum adopted me after I got here."

"And people call my family complicated," Rachel said, laughing, before she gestured to the furry bundle in Rebecca's arms. "This is Hannah, I'm guessing?"

"Right again. Would you like to hold her? You _are_ her auntie, after all." Rebecca held Hannah out to her sister encouragingly. "She won't bite – she likes new people. And even if she did bite, she hasn't got any teeth yet, so you wouldn't exactly bleed to death."

"I… don't know if I should," Rachel said, hesitantly. "I'm not good with kids –"

Cable couldn't stop himself from drawing in a sharp intake of breath and shaking his head in disapproval. "Not a valid excuse, Ray. If I can't get away with it, you shouldn't be able to, either. Come on, I'll show you how." Gently, he lifted Hannah from her mother's arms, and placed her in Rachel's stiff, terrified grasp – and then just as gently guided her arms to just the right places to support their mutual niece's tiny bodyweight. Rachel gasped in surprise as Hannah wriggled a little but then seemed to settle down and start purring quietly, flexing her tiny claws in deep content.

"Oh my God," she said softly, sounding a little shell-shocked. "Can I keep her?"

"I'm afraid not, Ray," Scott chuckled. "Jean and I asked if we could keep Rebecca's little brother when he was born, and we got told where to go in no uncertain terms. I think it's a Braddock trait." He winked at Rebecca, who blushed pinkly despite herself. "Can I get anybody anything to eat? We've got bagels, toaster pastries, fruit, yoghurt, cereal… anything you like, really."

"Already on it, Dad," Rachel laughed, and Scott became aware of several knives floating in mid-air as they spread butter on slices of bread, before pieces of ham unwrapped themselves and slid between the moistened bread, along with some hurriedly grated cheddar cheese. "Hope everybody likes ham and cheese," she said with a small shrug, as plates emerged from a nearby cupboard and completed the preparation, with four finished sandwiches. "If not, well… you can make your own lunch."

"No, that's okay, Rachel – thank you very much for doing that," Scott said, before biting into his food. "Saves me from having to do it, after all."

"Yeah, thanks for this, squirt," Cable added, before peeling the crusts off his bread and popping them into his mouth one after the other. "Just how I like them, too."

Suddenly, Scott saw all three of his children jerk their heads up and focus on something off to their right. Cable, in particular, seemed to know what the problem was, his hand automatically reaching for a gun on his hip. "What is it, guys?" Scott asked, feeling a little helpless without Jean around to back him up. "What's wrong?"

"Another visitor," Cable said briefly, his face twisting in pain. "Our other family member, and… somebody else I don't know. Doesn't feel all that friendly, though."

Scott blinked in surprise. Why would Nate be bringing somebody with him who had a psychic profile like that? Even with his youngest son's well-deserved reputation for unpredictability, that still didn't seem like the Nate Grey Scott knew – which meant that Nate was being chased. Instantly, Scott felt his instincts start taking over, and before he could stop himself, he said "Okay, guys – we need to establish a defensive perimeter around the mansion. Cable, Ray, can you do that?"

"Already done," Cable said with a rough smile, both hands already filled with plasma pistols as he sprinted out of the kitchen towards the back door, followed by Rachel, who had ignited a telekinetic aura of flame around herself. Before he went outside, Cable turned back towards his father and said sternly "You stay in here with the kids, Dad. I don't need you doing something stupid like trying to play the hero, okay? Not right now." He nodded towards Rebecca. "Keep an eye on him for me, Rebecca, will you?"

"Sure, Nate," Rebecca said, clutching Hannah to her chest instinctively. Scott watched his two oldest children running outside from the kitchen window, and felt an involuntary swell of pride in his heart that they had turned out so well. He watched as the sky above them turned a flame-red shade and his youngest son came crashing down through it like a comet, trailing licking tongues of fire and wisps of superheated air.

"Damn it," he muttered, only half to himself. "I wish I could hear what's going on out there."

"You're subtle as a punch in the face, Scott, you know that?" Rebecca said with a wry smile. "Hold on, I'll see if I can't patch you into the conversation myself." Putting Hannah down on her blanket for a second, she brushed her fingertips against her temples and contacted Cable. _Uncle Scott wants to know what you're saying,_ she said with a brief psychic chuckle. _I thought you wouldn't mind me letting him listen in._

_Sounds like Dad,_ Cable said, keeping his plasma pistols cocked and ready to fire as he did so. _Tell him that's fine._

_Will do. Thanks, Nathan._ Rebecca opened her eyes and smiled at Scott. "He's okay with that."

"Good," Scott replied, and let Rebecca put her fingertips on his forehead, closing a telepathic circuit between him and his son. He felt Cable watching Nate Grey pushing himself to his feet and floating over to where his two older siblings stood, and felt Cable asking Nate why he had come here in so much of a hurry.

"Somebody sent a… girl… to kill me. Apparently I annoyed somebody somehow by practising my shaman thing in Central Park, and they decided they'd try and snuff me out while I was sleeping," he felt Nate say in his mind. "Unfortunately for them, I woke up and found her standing over me. She felt familiar, so I led her here. I thought you guys might be able to help me deal with her."

"Why should you need our help?" Rachel said quizzically. "As far as I've heard, you're more powerful than both of us. Surely you can deal with one girl?"

"It's not a question of power," Nate insisted. "You'll know when you see her why I brought her here." Scott saw him frown, through Cable's eyes. "Here she comes now."

And then, in the distance, Scott could just make out a small, wiry shape emerging from the undergrowth at the edge of the estate and loping towards his three elder children. It was hunched over like a beast about to leap, with two short blades extended from each of its hands. "Blessed Mother," he heard Cable murmur in palpable shock, and felt the muscles in his son's back bunch as he brought his plasma pistols up to fire. The girl jinked aside, growling almost mindlessly as the pistols vomited streams of burning light at her, and hurled herself through the air towards Cable, apparently ready to go right through him to get to her target if need be. Cable batted her aside with the butt of one gun, and through his ears Scott heard an audible crack as the girl's cheekbone shattered. She landed heavily, a rib snapping noisily as she hit the ground, but she pushed herself to her feet without a pause. Standing in front of her three foes, she panted deeply while her bruised, ripped flesh and crushed bones apparently knitted themselves back together before their eyes in a matter of seconds. When they were healed, she growled again, and dipped low towards Rachel, aiming her hand blades towards Rachel's calf. When Rachel slammed her into the floor with a telekinetic fist, the girl swung one leg around in a tight, economical kick. As Scott watched, he saw a blade punch its way out of her boot and sketch a long red line in Rachel's skin. He heard Rachel howl in pain and then saw her grab the girl around the throat with an invisible hand.

"That's enough," Rachel snarled. "Go to sleep." Scott saw the girl going purple from lack of oxygen, and then saw her slump unconscious to the ground, her lethal blades rendered harmless. Then Rachel turned towards the kitchen and said _I think it's safe for you and Rebecca to come out now, Dad._ Even through the distance between them, Scott could see Rachel winking at him, and he had to smile at that. He turned to his "niece" and gestured towards her three other half-siblings.

"You want to investigate this as well?" he asked amiably. "Looks interesting, don't you think?"

"That's one word for it," Rebecca said sourly. "Oh, why not? It's not like this place is ever exciting when the others aren't here, is it?"

The three of them walked out into the sunshine, Hannah mewling a little as the sun touched her fur, and approached the other three Summers children as quickly as they could – Scott was still having to lean on the cane he'd been using for the past few weeks, and Rebecca was trying desperately not to upset her baby. When they got to where Cable, Rachel and Nate were standing, Scott smiled at his youngest son and said "Welcome to the friendly homestead, Nate. How are you feeling?"

"Same as always," Nate replied. "Hungry and persecuted."

"Speaking of which," Cable said, pointing at the unconscious girl at his feet, "any idea who she is?"

"Well," Nate began, "the first things I noticed were the claws, so I thought bringing her here would be a wise choice. You've got some experience with guys like that, as I recall."

"Could you get anything out of her head while you were leading her here?" Rebecca asked, rocking gently from side to side to keep Hannah occupied while she spoke. "A real name, a home base, anything like that?"

"Try for yourself," Nate said simply, gesturing at the unconscious girl's skull with one hand. "Her mind's almost totally blank – there are memory blocks and programming bunches everywhere, so I can't get a sense of any real identity from anywhere. She's a real mystery."

"I don't like this," Rachel said, with one hand placed at her chin thoughtfully. "Sounds like somebody's doing to her what the Sentinels did to me." She thumped one hand into the other for a second or two. "We should keep her here until she comes around. Maybe then we can get some idea of why she came after Nate."

"I wouldn't count on that," Nate retorted. "She doesn't seem able to really talk, for one thing. All she wanted to do was put those claws of hers through my face."

"Then we teach her how to talk," Cable said without missing a beat. "Any one of us – except Dad, of course – can sleep-teach her English, if we have to."

"Good idea," Rachel agreed. "I'm not letting her go, Nate – nobody deserves that kind of life." Nate Grey looked uncomfortable for a moment or two, before he nodded in agreement.

"You're right, Ray," he said. "Being used as a living weapon isn't exactly a barrel of laughs, is it?" Without saying another word, he held out a hand and telekinetically lifted the girl off the ground. As the four telepaths walked ahead of him, Scott couldn't help but feel a swell of fatherly pride at his children's actions. Even if he hadn't raised them as a normal father would have done, they had all turned out to be wonderful people in their own ways… and for that, Scott was extremely grateful.

Now how, he wondered, should he break the news of apparent fatherhood to Logan?


	5. Unexpected Guests

_**Pennies From Heaven**_

_**Chapter Five: Unexpected Guests**_

Logan stared at the girl sitting silent and cross-legged in the centre of the Danger Room, his gruff face for once shocked into stunned silence. Then he pointed at the girl with one finger, his incredulous expression turning to one of utter confusion. "Let me get this straight, hairball," he said in a low voice that was almost a growl, his lip curling dangerously, "you're tellin' me that that kid is my _clone?_ Did you forget your medical degree when you were in the shower this mornin', bub? 'Cause I'm pretty sure she's a _she._ An' correct me if I'm wrong here, but isn't a clone supposed to be, you know, the _same_ as whatever it's cloned from?"

Hank McCoy shrugged his shoulders and turned back to his microscope, turning a dial on its side to bring the slide he had under it into better focus. "Yes, Logan, that's right – except in this case, it would seem. What my analysis seems to have revealed is that this child is an exact genetic duplicate of your good self, apart from the fact that she has no Y chromosome."

"Okay, Hank," Logan said, taking a deep breath and touching the bridge of his nose with his fingertips, trying to massage away the headache he could feel starting to thump angrily at the front of his brain, "let's say I actually _believe_ you. Why would somebody want to clone me in the first place?"

"I would have thought that would be self-evident," Hank replied, raising his shaggy eyebrows. "You are a superb soldier, and with your natural gifts for combat, one imagines that whoever cloned you wanted to utilise that for their own purposes. The fact that this child is female must have been incidental to them – with your genes they were guaranteed a merciless killer, one whom they could direct at anybody they chose, whenever they chose. Besides, you remember what Nate Grey, Nathan, Rachel and Rebecca told you about how she fought; harnessing such a destructive force is something for which any military commander would die, wouldn't you say?"

"I guess so," Logan replied grudgingly, a sour look of agreement fluttering across his face for a second or two. Then he folded his hands into fists and cracked both sets of knuckles against the wall. "I'm gonna talk to her. I owe the kid that, at least." He picked up a large duffel bag that he'd brought with him, and began to walk determinedly towards the room's exit.

Hank's expression turned to one of alarm in a fraction of an instant. "Are you sure that's wise, Logan? Evidence would seem to suggest that the girl needs solitude. What if you end up making things worse?"

"Then I'll do what I do best," Logan replied in a flat tone. "Nothin' better to put down a mad dog than one of its own, right?" He paused, and then laid a thick hand on Hank's shoulder, squeezing through the lab-coat and giving the other man a small half-smile. "The fact of the matter is she's my kin, Doc – no matter where she came from. Ain't nobody goin' to take her away from me, except me." He nodded briefly, and then walked over to the door of the observation booth, stroking the door release button with one deft movement of his fingers before stepping through into the abrupt chill of the corridor outside. Finding his way towards the elevator, he stepped in and went down a level towards the main entrance to the Danger Room, its metal door panels emblazoned with yellow warning signs and a "Do Not Enter" notice taped to the door itself. Logan snorted in contempt and then tapped in the security code that unlocked the door. It hissed open gently, and as he entered the room, he saw the girl's eyes snapping open and tracking him with every step he took. She stared at him with wide ovals which were exactly the same colour as his own, and Logan could see the confusion in them as she took in his scent. He wasn't too sure of himself, either, because he could smell himself in her just as much as she could smell the opposite. It unnerved him, because despite the evidence of his own eyes, McCoy's tests had proven accurate.

Seeing that the girl was virtually about to bolt, Logan knelt down in front of her and said, in as soothing a tone as he could manage, "Hey, little darlin' – my name's Logan. You got a name?"

"Name?" the girl replied, in the broken English that she was still having occasional moments of trouble speaking, even after Jean and the Professor's telepathic language treatments. She paused for a moment, looking like she was trying hard to remember some intricate detail of how to answer questions. "Laura," she said at last. "My mommy told me I was called Laura."

"Laura, huh?" Logan said, chewing the information over as if it was a chunk of expensive, flavoursome meat, and then began to move closer to the girl, taking care to keep his steps small and even. He didn't want her to start panicking and trying to bolt for the door, after all. "That's a nice name – a pretty name. Maybe we should find your momma for you, so we can send you back to her?"

"Can't do that," the girl, Laura, muttered bleakly, shaking her head and looking at her clenched fists, seeming almost ashamed. Logan could smell the bitter emotion as it wafted off her skin, and he didn't like the way it flowed against his senses, like a river of jagged glass grinding itself along the flesh of his back. "Mommy's not here."

"Why not?" he pressed gently, determined to get to the bottom of this mysterious girl's problems. "Do you know where she is? Is she in another city – out of the country, maybe?"

"Mommy's dead," Laura whispered through thin, pale lips, looking away from her hands to give Logan a piercing glare. "I killed her. They made me kill her. I couldn't stop myself." She whimpered softly then, tears welling at the corners of her eyes, before she let her head fall back onto her chest again, her gaze returning to her hands. "Go away."

"Can't do that." Logan shook his head, feeling his heart crack for the plight of this obviously-haunted child. "I ain't goin' anywhere, darlin'. I promise."

"Mommy said that, too," Laura hissed, suddenly angry, spearing Logan with a bleak, dark scowl as her lips drew back over her teeth. Her canines gleamed pearl-bright as she did so, a growl rumbling in her throat, and the two adamantium blades in her right hand sprang out and locked quietly into place. "I don't like lies."

Logan winced. He knew exactly how she felt. Lies were all he'd known for too long, thanks to far too many people, and he didn't want her to go through the same thing. "Your momma didn't lie to you, darlin'," he said gently, "and I won't, either." He sat down in front of her and crossed his legs, and then reached out hesitantly with the fingers of his left hand and took hold of the tiny paw which had its claws extended, patiently waiting for her to retract them so that he could clutch it more easily. "You an' me, we're family, just like you an' your momma were family. Difference is: you try killin' me, and you probably won't get very far. See, I'm like a mutant Weeble – I wobble, but I don't fall down." He smiled lopsidedly then, and popped the bony claws on his right hand. "And I've got three claws on my hands instead o' just two. I think I got you beat there, huh?"

"You have claws too?" the girl asked, confused. "How?"

"Born with 'em," Logan replied, "just like you were, I reckon." He opened the duffel bag he'd brought with him, and took out a medium-sized bar of chocolate. "Here. I thought you might want somethin' to eat." The girl took the chocolate bar and sniffed it suspiciously, before turning it over in her hands with a look of puzzlement in her eyes. Logan smiled again, before he reached out and unfolded the silver wrapping for her, breaking off a section of the chocolate bar and placing it in the centre of her small hand. "There you go," he said gently. "You enjoy it, sweetheart. It's real good, I promise." He watched as Laura raised the piece of chocolate to her lips, took one last sniff, and then nibbled it gingerly. When she swallowed the mouthful, she looked up at him in wonder, her brown eyes gone wide as saucers. Logan almost marvelled at how innocent she appeared at that moment – it was a sensation he'd long since forsaken, and he wanted this child to hold onto it for as long as she could.

"Good," she said, almost breathlessly, a small smudge of chocolate appearing at the side of her mouth as she spoke. She licked it away eagerly. "Good," she said again.

"I thought you might think that," Logan chuckled. "Would you like some more, kid?" He almost laughed out loud when Laura's head began bobbling up and down on her neck as if it were mounted on a loose spring. Apparently it didn't matter whether a child was born naturally or not – chocolate was still a universal translator. Obligingly, he broke off another couple of squares and gave them to her, watching her stuff them into her mouth greedily, licking the remains of them off her fingers as if her life depended on it. Logan used the opportunity to sit down next to the girl and cross his legs, mirroring her posture as closely as he could. "You like that, huh?" he asked.

Laura looked up at him then, suddenly confused. "Yes," she said, "but why are you doing this? I don't understand."

"Your momma understood why," Logan replied quietly. "Like I said before, I'm your family, darlin' – the only family you've got left – and that sorta makes me responsible for you."

"Why?" the girl asked again, still looking like she had no idea of what was going on. "I didn't ask for this."

"I know, Laura, but family ties mean you shouldn't need to be asked," Logan sighed gently, reaching into his duffel bag again and bringing out a small pink t-shirt, some girl-sized denim jeans, pink socks and underwear, and a pair of white sneakers. "Here. I bought you some other things you might like. I got Hank to take your measurements when you were out cold in the med-lab, and I went out shoppin' for you so that you had somethin' else to wear." He held up the t-shirt so that Laura could see what it had printed on the front: _Born To Be A Princess._ The words were written in crisp, elegantly curling white lettering, which was emblazoned with a small gold tiara. Logan figured Laura didn't need to know how long he had spent pacing back and forth in the young adults' section at Macy's, trying to decide what to buy her (his experiences with Jubilee and Kitty Pryde had shown him that the wrong choice could be an extremely costly one, after all). He smiled encouragingly. "I guess I ain't much for goin' clothes-huntin' – if you don't like it, we can always go back and get it changed, darlin'," he added, in a tone that suggested he was preparing himself for a costly defeat, but the expected expression of disgust never came. Instead, Laura sat silently, looking at the t-shirt and jeans with an even more confused expression.

"You got these for me," she said slowly, mulling over the apparently alien notion of somebody actually being generous towards her. "Can I wear these now?"

"Sure. Sure, Laura, you can wear these now," Logan replied with a little too much obvious relief. "That uniform o' yours must be getting a little ripe now, huh?"

"I guess so," Laura whispered. She got up from her seated position and wandered over to a corner of the room, ambling slowly towards the juncture of two walls with a loping, bestial gait that wasted no movement whatsoever. Logan watched her moving curiously, and wondered for a moment if that was the way others saw him when he walked. The girl jerked the zip of her single-piece uniform down and eased herself out of it one arm at a time, and just before he slammed his eyes shut in embarrassment, Logan noticed a series of black barcode tattoos stitched across the lily-white skin of her thin shoulder, like railroad tracks laid on pristine snow.

_What did they do to you, darlin'?_ he thought, disgusted. _What did you do to deserve that?_ He didn't like to speculate, given the sort of things he'd had to endure himself – but at least he'd been an adult when they'd happened. This girl wasn't even old enough to be Jubilee's classmate, and she had obviously been subjected to something so terrible that she wouldn't ever be able to forget it. Logan could feel something deeply unpleasant knotting in his gut, so he got up and started walking to and fro with his eyes still firmly closed, relying on his other senses to guide him as he tried to walk off the anger. His hands started to flex open and closed, clenching so tightly that small crescent-shaped wounds appeared in his palms for a brief few seconds each time. Blood dripped onto the floor as it coated his fingernails, and he heard Laura suddenly start growling deep in her throat. He swung round and his eyes snapped open in an instant, to find her fully clothed, minus her shoes and socks, and with both pairs of hand-blades extended. What he hadn't expected was to see a blade extended from between her first two toes on each bare foot. _That's a surprise,_ he thought sourly. _Great. _The girl's eyes were almost completely vacant as she scanned the air for something undefined, a low growl rumbling at the back of her throat. Logan almost popped his own claws, but he hesitated for an instant, for once putting two and two together before leaping in with both fists swinging: the smell of his blood, however faint, had apparently set off Laura's animal instincts somehow, and he needed to find a way of bringing her back down to earth – and quickly. He waited until the girl leapt at him, an unnerving silence accompanying her (usually, Logan had to fight enemies who talked a lot, so this was a strange exception… and one he wasn't sure he liked all that much), and ducked in close to her, hoping to get her into a full-nelson hold before she knew what was going on. The girl avoided his grasp, though, twisting in mid-air with preternatural speed, and aimed a slashing strike at Logan's face with the claws on her right hand. Blood streaked the floor of the Danger Room as her claws found their target and opened up the left side of Logan's face from mouth to ear. Logan staggered backwards, holding his cheek instinctively even as his flesh zipped itself closed in the blink of an eye, and made sure to keep his claws sheathed. Despite what he'd told Beast, he wasn't going to kill this girl for something she couldn't control; something that obviously been programmed into her. Dancing backwards with the speed of an eyeblink, Logan evaded another wild slash from Laura's hand-claws and jabbed at an exposed nerve cluster on her neck with two extended fingers. If he'd hit it right, her movement would be severely impaired – only for a moment or so, but long enough for him to get where he needed to be. The fingers hit exactly where they needed to go, and Laura immediately started to slow down, her steps becoming sluggish. Logan took advantage of that right away, ducking inside her defence and slipping both of his arms under her shoulders so that his hands could meet behind her head.

"It's okay, kid," he whispered, as the girl began to thrash furiously in his grip, snarling in a guttural tone totally different from the subdued voice she had used before. "You're safe. Nobody's goin' to hurt you, I promise…" He held on tightly as the girl kept hurling herself to and fro trying to escape, waiting for the berserker rage to burn itself out, as it would inevitably do. "Shh, now, darlin'. Don't fight me." The girl kept growling and snapping at the air with her sharp little teeth for a good five minutes, before she finally went limp in his grasp and stopped trying to resist him. Carefully, Logan let her go, and she slumped to her knees, once again becoming the quiet, damaged little girl he had first met.

For a moment, Logan chewed over what had just happened: Laura had been extremely docile and calm – until the exact moment when the scent of blood had switched on her rage, completely against her will. He supposed that had some significance in how whoever had created Laura had intended to control her, to use her as a loaded weapon to be pointed at whomever they chose. He fought the urge to spit in disgust, his anger at Laura's mysterious creators almost boiling over. He swallowed it with a great deal of effort, though, knowing that Laura needed him to be something else other than a killer right at this moment. With that in mind, he turned her to face him and enfolded her in his arms, feeling her stiffen instinctively and try to pull away, before he whispered gently into her ear. "You're safe now, darlin'. Nobody's goin' to hurt you any more, I promise," he murmured. "You have my word on that." He stood, and offered her his hand. "I found you a room upstairs, Laura. You don't have to take it, but I'd like it if you did – do you want to come with me?"

The girl looked up at him silently, frowning. "Why?" she asked again, once again puzzled despite herself. "You people put me here."

"No, kid, I didn't put you here," Logan asserted firmly. _No way I'm takin' the blame for that,_ he thought. "I'm tellin' you now, though, that you have a home at the mansion and you just have to come with me to take it." He paused. "Do you want to do that?"

Laura tipped her head quizzically to one side, like a dog waiting for a command. "What do you want me to do?" she asked, virtually without any emotion.

"I want you to be somewhere better than this," Logan told her, truthfully, swallowing his frustration. "This ain't no place for a little girl." He held out his hand again. "Come on, Laura. Let me take you somewhere you can feel safe."

"Okay." The reply was short, simple and to the point. "Can I put my shoes and socks on?"

Logan was so relieved he almost could have shouted with joy right then, but he didn't, simply nodding, smiling broadly, and saying "Sure. Sure you can, darlin'. Go right ahead."

When Laura had clothed her feet, Logan punched the door release code into the Danger Room's lock and led her out of the room by the hand. He took her down the hallway into the elevator and pushed the button for the first floor. The elevator sighed as it reached its destination, and Logan pushed the door-release button, letting Laura see the luxuriant interior of the first floor. "Come on, kid," Logan said. "Let's get you to your room." Laura stepped out onto the thick, velvety carpet with a mixture of curiosity and concern. She frowned as the carpet gave a little under her feet, as if she'd never seen a floor covering like it before. She kept looking at it suspiciously as Logan led her down the hallway, and then stopped outside an elaborately carved wooden door. He pushed it open to show her what was inside. A bed which had a few plain white sheets and a soft duvet thrown over it was placed in the far corner, with an oak chest of drawers and wardrobe opposite it. Several drawers in the chest were open and showed piles of clothes, mostly in neutral colours. There was a desk off to one side, with a combination television/DVD player and remote control perched on the top of it, and a full rack of DVDs placed on the floor next to it. Logan noted with a smile Laura's stunned expression, and said "Welcome home, Laura." He silently padded backwards out of the room while she was still taking everything in, closing the door as quietly as he could. When he was sure she was busy enough without him, he turned and stepped back into the elevator, riding it down to the ground level and then making his way towards the mansion's kitchen, finding a bottle of beer in the refrigerator and popping it open with the tip of a claw. He took a long measure of the amber liquid and let out a long, exhausted breath, rubbing the inner corners of his eyes with his free hand.

"Tired, Logan?" came a voice from the doorway. Logan looked back at the voice's owner, and nodded bleakly.

"Yeah," he replied. "How do you do it, Cyke?"

"Do what?"

"Deal with new kids comin' outta the woodwork all the damn time," Logan said. "I don't know, bub – this kid's a real mess, an' I don't know if I'm the right one to be teachin' her how to be a good person. I mean, look at me: I'm sat here drownin' my sorrows instead o' stayin' up there with her. What kinda dad does that make me?"

"I think you're dealing with your first clone-child pretty well, all things considered, Logan," Scott laughed. Wait till you get to your third or fourth; that's when things get _really_ interesting."

Logan raised an eyebrow. "I see now Jeannie married you for your good looks, 'cause it damn sure wasn't for your sense o' humour. I'm serious, bub, I need help. I can't let her go to Yukio to be a sister to Amiko, an' I can't let her outta here, either. For better or worse, I'm her daddy now. An' you know what? That terrifies me, Cyke. Usually I ain't scared of nobody or nothin', but now…" He popped both sets of claws with a wet tearing of flesh. "For God's sake, Cyke, do good fathers have knives in their hands?" Retracting his claws, he put his head in his hands, shaking it a little as he did so. "That kid deserves better."

Scott reached out and put a hand on Logan's shoulder, a small smile crossing his lips. "But she got you, Logan. I can't think of anybody more qualified to raise a child. Seriously – ask Kitty or Jubilee, and see what they say. Ask Rebecca. Those kids love you more than they could ever put into words, and for a good reason. You think you're not going to be a good father, Logan? Those girls would disagree with you. Amiko would disagree with you. And I'd disagree with you." He closed his grip slightly, squeezing the other man's shoulder and trying to let some of his strength carry through the gesture. "I can't think of anybody in this house who knows what that girl has been through more than you do. And the best way to show her you care is to be there for her."

"Thanks. Thanks, bub," Logan said, after a long pause. "You're not nearly as dumb as you look, you know that?"

"I'll try not to be insulted by that," Scott answered. "Look, Logan, that girl is totally on her own in the world, and if you can change that, then you really should."

"Laura," Logan murmured.

"I'm sorry?"

"Laura," Logan said, pulling one corner of his mouth up into a half-smile. "Her name's Laura."


	6. Thicker Than Water

_**Pennies From Heaven**_

_**Chapter Six: Thicker Than Water**_

Scott Summers sat reading a copy of _The Fellowship Of The Ring _in the mansion's rec. room, taking a sip from his glass of orange juice from time to time as he did so. He'd grown to enjoy the peace and quiet he got from just sitting by himself while the rest of the X-Men were either split into their field squads or playing baseball in the mansion's gardens, and so he had marked out a specific armchair as his own, and made every effort to spend as much time simply looking through a favourite book as he could. Of course, his plans were often spoiled when Warren or Betsy brought their little boy in to play video games, or when Sam or Rebecca used the rec. room as a way to take a short holiday from their daughter, but for the most part Scott had discovered that silence and contemplation was the best medicine. He was never truly _alone_, of course, since Jean's psychic presence was always within his mind, but it was always nice to have a little solitude, with nobody asking him what they should do, and how they should do it.

_That's Sam's job now,_ Scott noted, feeling slightly bitter despite himself, before he looked out of the room's windows at the back lawn. He could see Bishop practising with his energy pistols, burning holes into painted targets that had been moved from the Danger Room's storage area to open ground (Bishop had mentioned something about the noise of the outside world being a much better background than mechanical sounds), and off to the left he saw Rogue and her girlfriend Jenny enjoying a quiet romantic interlude underneath a tree, clinking glasses of champagne together and eating expensive snacks that they had lifted from a wicker picnic basket (Scott still had trouble with the fact that Rogue – or Louise, he supposed he could call her now – had begun a lesbian relationship, given her lengthy past with Remy, but he supposed that if it made her happy, then he ought to be pleased for her). He was about to look for some more members of the team when a small aircraft with government markings began descending towards the ground. Not knowing what to expect, Scott turned on one heel and walked as quickly as he could towards the other side of the room, punching the intercom button with practised efficiency. "All active X-Men to the rear lawn. _Now_," he said sharply. "Cyclops out." It wasn't until he took his finger off the button that he realised that he was probably overreacting, and that it wasn't his business anymore. _Damn it,_ he thought sourly, feeling his head throbbing painfully as he did so, as if the tumour in his brain was reminding him just how much of a civilian he was now. _Now I can't even _act _the hero any more._

Taking a deep breath and then swallowing a couple of the painkillers he kept in a pocket with two quick gulps of water, he walked out of the rec. room and down the hall towards the back door, stopping once or twice as his head swam briefly. The cancer did this to him from time to time, making him unsteady on his feet and occasionally prone to periods of vertigo, but Scott had learned to live with it. Of course, he looked forward to the day when he would be able to put it behind him completely at some point, too, but for now he knew he'd have to grit his teeth and hope he didn't collapse. Leaning against a wall for a moment or two, Scott breathed in deeply, pursing his lips as he exhaled, and then he pushed himself up straight again, making his way gingerly towards the back door. He opened it and stepped onto the flat paving stones of the man's outer walkway, before hobbling across the lawn towards the jet, which had alighted noisily onto the grass. A ramp unfastened itself from its moorings in the plane's belly, hissing downwards with almost no noise at all. Scott tensed his jaw, expecting to see a squad of armoured Guardsmen, US Marines or secret service agents clatter down into the garden, with weapons drawn and their patience already dangerously thin. What he actually saw surprised him a great deal.

A lone man walked down the ramp, a kit-bag stowed on one shoulder and a smile set firmly onto his unusually cheerful face. "Hey, bro," Alex Summers said, grinning as he saw Scott standing in front of the jet. "Long time no see." He walked forwards, dropped the kit-bag, and then gave his older brother a hug, which caused Scott to yelp in pain, all the soreness in his body flaring at once. Alex immediately stepped back, looking instantly apologetic. "Sorry, man," he said sheepishly. "I forgot you'd still be pretty fragile." He offered his hand instead, which Scott took gladly, shaking it with all the strength he could muster. "So… how are things?" Alex asked. "Cancer aside, I mean."

"Pretty good, all things considered," Scott said with a strained, tired smile. "I've been doing a lot more fun things since I gave up my field command, and just generally enjoying life without having to dress in uniform every day. Do I miss it? Sure, of course I do. But taking the time to smell the roses is something I haven't done for far, _far_ too long. In that regard, this is probably the best thing that ever happened to me. If I didn't have to deal with the radiotherapy, feeling tired all the time, and the fact that I have to wear this power-dampener all the time, I'd be ecstatic." He held up his right wrist to show Alex the bracelet that denied him access to his optic blasts. "Mr Sinister designed this for me, did you know that? He came here and he helped me out, instead of trying to use me like a puppet."

Alex's eyes bulged in surprise. "That Rocky-Horror freakshow actually did something out of the kindness of his heart? Damn. I guess the world really _has_ gone nuts."

"I don't think it was ever anything else," Scott replied, philosophically, "but it was pretty surprising seeing him act like something else other than a mad scientist." He paused. "On a happier note… would you like to meet the new addition to the family?"

"Hannah?" Alex asked. "Sure, why not? You've emailed me enough photos and stories about her that I feel like I know her anyway, so I might as well meet her in the flesh."

"Not before you give me a hug too," Jean said, suddenly alighting on the grass next to her husband, her yellow and blue costume bright in the afternoon sun. She raised her eyebrow at Scott's quizzical expression, and laughed. "I was in the Danger Room practising my telekinesis, when you decided to play Napoleon against doctor's orders. I didn't just decide that I wanted to wear the suit for fun, Scott. Sorry. I know how much that thought excites you." She winked, enjoying her husband's sheepish blush, and then stepped forward and embraced her brother-in-law. "Hello, Alex. It's good to see you again." She paused then, frowning. "Wait a second – where's Lorna?"

"She's fine," Alex replied, shrugging. "Nursing a couple of injuries from X-Factor's last mission, but nothing too serious. She should be back on her feet in a day or two." He smiled. "She told me that she wanted to try for a baby when she's up and around again."

"She wants a baby? That's great news!" Jean exclaimed, clapping her hands excitedly and hugging Alex again. Scott waited patiently for her to let go before he put his hand on his little brother's shoulder and gave him a congratulatory smile.

"Good luck with that, Alex," he said in a quiet voice. "Don't make the same mistakes I did with my first child." Alex noticed the remorse that was obvious in his face, and decided to try and put his brother's concerns at rest – or at least try to do that, anyway. He knew Scott well enough to know that trying to stop Scott worrying was a futile exercise. If there was nothing to worry about, Alex knew that Scott would worry _why_ there was nothing to worry about.

"Don't worry, bro," he said, knowing those words would be falling on deaf ears. "I think the first thing I'll do, if and when the kid arrives, is turn in my ID badge. That way I couldn't even get back onto the X-Factor base without tripping security alarms. I don't think I'd get very far while I'm stuck in a holding cell, do you?"

"I guess not." Scott took a deep breath and then said "Come on, Alex – you don't want to stand out here all day. Can I get you something to drink? We have beer, soda, plain old water, whatever you want."

"He could even make you a milkshake," Jean added. "You may not know it, but Scott has no equal in making milkshakes. They're to _die_ for. And I should know." She chuckled, enjoying Scott's embarrassed eye-rolling and then taking her husband by the hand and beginning to help him back towards the house. The rest of the X-Men had already dispersed back to their games or other rituals: Bishop was settling back down onto the porch to finish his weapons maintenance and Nightcrawler was picking up the baseball that had fallen onto the grass and hurling it at Gambit, who swung the bat in his right hand with all the power he could muster – and a little more besides, as the bat began to glow with energy, sending the ball rocketing high into the sky like a bullet. Scott smiled as both of the baseball teams began to shout angrily at him for breaking the frequently-ignored "no powers" rules. Gambit merely shrugged nonchalantly and began walking off around the makeshift diamond with his bat over his shoulder, while whistling "Dixie" cheerfully to himself. His face changed in a matter of moments when he saw Rogue, wearing a Mississippi State jersey with her baseball cap turned backwards on her head, coming down from the sky with the ball firmly clutched in her hand. She landed in the middle of the diamond and basked in the incredulous expression on Gambit's usually carefree features. Scott found himself laughing quietly at the way justice had been done, and then led his brother into the mansion, and from there into the rec. room, where he, Jean, and Alex found Sam and Rebecca sitting on the floor playing with their daughter.

"Hey, Uncle Scott," Rebecca said, beaming at him with the kind of smile Scott was sure had to have come from Betsy's genes. "Sam and I were just talking about how we'd like you and Aunt Jean to baby-sit Hannah for an evening or two in the future. I don't think Mum and Dad would mind you doing their job for one night at a time, after all. Besides, they already have Tom to worry about, so it'd be nice for them not to have the extra concern."

"That's right, sir," Sam added, still incredibly respectful of his senior X-Men, even when one of them wasn't even on the team any more. "Bec and I would really like you to get to know Hannah a little better, and we think that there's no better way for you to do that than for you to spend some time alone with her." He glanced down at his baby daughter, and grinned. "Ain't that right, sweet-pea?" Hannah gurgled happily in response, her feline features shifting into a wide, toothless smile, and Sam kissed her on the top of her furry head. "That's my girl," he murmured, before looking up at Alex and clearing his throat. "Sorry, sir. Didn't mean to steal your thunder."

Alex chuckled. "Don't worry about it, kid. I have to deal with far worse back at the ranch, after all." He knelt down next to Sam and offered him his hand, which the younger man shook a little gingerly. "Good to see you, Sam." Then he turned his attention to the young blonde woman sitting across the rug, and continued "Hi, Rebecca – it's good to see you again, too. You have a very beautiful little girl here." Rebecca blushed bright pink while doing her best to look unaffected, without much success.

"Thank you," she said quietly, leaning over to touch her baby on the forehead, and then picked the tiny body up so that she could cradle her against her chest. "We're very proud of her – aren't we, darling?" Hannah simply gurgled again, making Rebecca laugh gently. "That's right, we are." She kissed her child on the nose then, and held her out to Alex. "Would you like to hold her? You're her uncle too, you know."

"No, but thank you for offering," Alex said as he held his hands up in front of him. "I'm… not good with kids."

Jean raised an eyebrow. "Well, that's no excuse: if Lorna wants one, you'll have to get some practice in before it happens, won't you? Come on – I'll show you how." She walked forwards, knelt down and took Hannah from her mother's arms, and transferred the little girl into Alex's reluctant hands. She adjusted his arms until they were supporting her as fully as possible, and then moved backwards a little so that Alex could look down at Hannah, who yawned sleepily and stretched her arms. Tiny, soft claws extended from the tips of her fingers and then retracted just as quickly, making Alex's eyes bulge in surprise.

"She has claws?" he asked. "Won't that be dangerous?"

"Not until she's much older," Jean reassured him with a smile. "Anyway, it's not like she'll be ruining the furniture trying to sharpen them – right, Rebecca?"

"Right," Rebecca agreed. "Hank says we can make her a scratching post if she needs one or find her a ball of wool to play with, or anything else she might need to get by. I just hope catnip doesn't affect her like it would a real cat, though, otherwise we'll be in real trouble." She laughed. "She'll be a handful, but I know it'll be worth it, from what I've seen Mum and Dad go through with my little brother." She laughed. "And with me, too, I think."

"I think you're right," Scott said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he did so. "You've made all three of us very proud, Rebecca."

He smiled inwardly at the way she went bright pink again.

* * *

Later, Scott and Alex were in the elevator that led down to the mansion's sub-basement. It was time for Scott's radiotherapy, and Alex had elected to accompany him, asking that Jean sit this one treatment out. Alex had wanted to see what his brother was going through, and he wanted to do it alone, without anybody else there (except Hank, of course, but that was a given); Alex had said this was a brotherly thing to do, and since he never really got to spend any time with Scott normally, this was the best time to do it. Scott had agreed, a little reluctantly, but he had agreed nevertheless, and now the two of them were on their way down to the med-lab, where Scott's treatment would be carried out.

"So what's radiotherapy like?" Alex asked, obviously thinking that getting the most obvious question out of the way first of all was a good idea. Scott raised his eyebrows and rubbed his forehead a little, trying to come up with a decent answer.

"Well… it's a lot briefer than you think it's going to be, that's for sure. Honestly, the time I spend waiting for Hank to set the machines up is longer than the actual treatment itself. All it is, really, is shooting two crossed beams of radiation into the tumour in my head, so that the cancer gets a double dose of energy. With any luck, that'll kill the cancer cells and let me get back to what passes for my normal life." He massaged his closed eyes with his fingertips briefly, and then said "I really hate this – I hate being at the mercy of something I can't even see. I just want to get better again, you know?"

Alex sighed. "I know, bro. I know." He stepped across the elevator and hugged his brother tightly. "It's going to be okay, Scott. It'll all be okay in the end. You'll see." Suddenly he felt Scott shuddering against him, and heard a small sob escaping from his elder brother's throat. He drew back a little and saw uncharacteristic tears trickling down Scott's face, and noticed an equally uncharacteristic quiver in his brother's face, as if he were on the verge of collapsing against the wall of the elevator. "Hey – what's the matter?" he asked, feeling the dreadful redundancy of the words even as he said them.

"I'm… I'm scared," Scott said in a hoarse, reluctant tone, as if he didn't want his brother to see any more of his emotions than he'd already let out. "I try not to let the rest of the team see it, but this really frightens me. I'm scared I won't get to see my new granddaughter grow up. I'm scared that I won't ever get to have a child the right way with Jean, instead of just waiting for one to show up from the future. I'm scared that I won't ever get to really _live_." He wiped at his eyes again with the tips of two fingers, brushing bright moisture off his cheeks as he did so. "I'm just scared, Alex."

"Nothing wrong with that," Alex replied, with a small shrug. "Everybody gets scared once in a while."

"Not me," Scott snapped, suddenly angry. "I'm not _supposed_ to get scared. That's not what I'm here for – people look at me and expect to see a brave man who doesn't get scared about anything. I'm supposed to be the one who makes everybody else want to keep going. I _can't_ get scared, don't you get it? I'm –" Whatever Scott was about to say got choked off by another fitful burst of sobs escaping from his throat, and Alex took the opportunity to embrace his brother again, gently, pressing his brother's shaking form to his own and letting him cry out his buried pain. While he was doing that, he felt the elevator come to a gentle halt, and heard the doors open with a soft pneumatic hiss.

"Come on, Scott. Time to go," he said, nodding towards the empty corridor in front of the two of them, which was still lined with the movie posters that Hank had put up at Rebecca's behest. Alex noted with some tiny amount of amusement that there were some movies there that Hank wouldn't dream of ever going to see – _Ace Ventura: Pet Detective,_ for instance, or _Underworld_ – but which he'd kept up on the walls because Rebecca liked them. Alex didn't know much about the day-to-day goings on in the mansion these days, but he knew, from Scott's emails and phone calls, that Hank and Rebecca had developed a special bond and had become close friends over the relatively short time they had been sharing the mansion. It amused him to think of the huge, shaggy Beast being a kindred spirit to the young woman who was now the mother of his great-niece. While Alex was looking down the corridor, Scott took a deep, shuddering breath and pulled at the wrinkled t-shirt he was wearing, smoothing out the crinkles in it and letting it fall to its full length. He wiped at his face and exhaled a little more evenly, running his hands through his hair and generally tidying himself up. When he saw Alex giving him a raised eyebrow, he shrugged.

"I need to keep up appearances, even if everybody knows I'm sick," he said simply. "It makes me feel better."

"Okay, bro," Alex replied, with a small smile. "Okay. I understand."


	7. To Boldly Go

_**Pennies From Heaven**_

_**Chapter Seven: To Boldly Go…**_

"Scott, I'm pregnant."

Scott Summers felt like his legs had been kicked out from under him, the oxygen in his lungs almost vanishing in an instant. He took a few steps towards the nearest seat, the couch in the centre of the Xavier Institute's rec. room, and set himself down in it as fast as he could. Then he ran his hands through his hair and took a deep breath, blowing out the inhaled air in a sustained rush, his cheeks puffing slightly as he did so. Then he looked up at Jean Grey, his Jean, the one beacon of light he'd had during this whole horrible situation, and smiled as best he could. "That's… that's wonderful, Jean," he said listlessly. "I'm happy for you."

Jean sat down next to him, raising an eyebrow and cuffing Scott behind the ear as if he were a naughty schoolboy. "Oh, no you don't. Don't you dare do this to me, kiddo. I know you like to look like the unemotional leader type to the others, but this is me you're talking to. Come on, Scott… this is _our_ child, not just mine – you're going to be happy about it, whether you like it or not. Or would you prefer I went to the future and came back with it all grown up? Would that make you happier?"

"No, of course not, but…" Scott paused then, as if searching for the least inflammatory words he could think of. "Why _now?_ Why did this have to happen now?"

"Why not?" Jean asked, shrugging. "At least now you have one more thing to help you get better, right?"

"And what if I don't?" Scott snapped, suddenly angry. "I don't want to leave you behind – you _or_ the baby. I couldn't bear the thought of that child growing up without a father. I've already done that to far too many of my children as it is."

"You don't have to worry about that, Scott, because you're going to get better, all right?" Jean said sternly, tapping him on the nose with an extended forefinger and hugging him tightly. "And besides, you wouldn't have to worry about the baby not having a daddy; I'd just marry Hank instead. I think he'd make a good father, don't you?" His mood instantly lifted, Scott jabbed her gently in the ribs with his fist then, causing her to squeal girlishly and wriggle under his fingers a little. Scott took advantage of that and pushed her flat on the couch, kissing her with as much passion as he could muster – which wasn't much, given how tired he was from all the radiotherapy he'd been receiving, but it was enough – and began attacking the sensitive spot on Jean's side which he knew would reduce her to fits of giggles if it was touched enough. She squirmed a little as she realised what he was doing, but soon began to go along with it, kissing him and laughing as she managed to find his own tickle-spot under his armpit. Weakened as he was, Scott was still able to muster a couple of genuine laughs as he and his wife played like two little children on a summer afternoon.

"Don't push it, you," Scott said when they paused for breath, a smile reasserting itself on his pale face before he added "or you'll get more of that."

"Oh, Scott, Scott, Scott… you really should learn your place in these things," Jean said, winking and then slapping him gently on the cheek. "You and I both know you've always been my bitch… you can't get enough of it." She chuckled and stuck her tongue out at him, before her face took on a more serious tone and she said "So do you feel any better about this baby now?"

"Well, I know I have to get better now, yeah," Scott replied, stroking Jean's cheek with his hand. "You and Hank would make a _terrible_ couple…"

* * *

Scott knocked on the door of the med-lab with the knuckles of his right hand, his left still closed around Jean's fingers, both for support and for reassurance. "Hank? It's Scott and Jean. Can we come in?" he asked cautiously. Where Hank was concerned, it was always best to check if it was safe to come in, considering the number of experiments he usually had running at any one time. Any one of them could explode or mutate at any moment, and given the past results of Hank's tinkering, that could be more harmful than anything else.

"Absolutely!" came the cheerful response. "Just be sure to watch yourselves when you do – I have some rather… ah… _delicate_ projects on the table right now."

_There's a surprise,_ Scott thought with a wry smile, and then brushed the door-release button to the right of the entranceway. When he saw the contents of the med-lab, he understood why Hank had advised caution – there were dozens of beakers and Bunsen burners strewn all over the workbenches, all of them bubbling away noisily and boiling their contents in discoloured water, with equally discoloured steam rising off them in billowing clouds. "Hank… what's going on here?" Scott asked before he could stop himself.

"Research," Hank replied simply, and Scott knew enough not to ask him to elaborate. "Don't worry about it; I'll have it all cleared away by tonight, or tomorrow morning at the latest." He folded his clipboard closed, and then put it on a nearby stool. "So, what can I do for you two star-crossed lovers? You aren't due for another radiotherapy treatment for a few days yet, Scott, so that can't be it. And I don't think the always-lovely Jean has any obvious ailments, either, so I'm rather stumped."

"I'm pregnant," Jean explained, before she looked over at Scott and smiled. "We're having a baby."

Hank's jaw dropped. "Oh my stars and garters – this is most definitely cause for celebration. I think I have a box of Twinkies hidden around here somewhere… that is, if Rebecca hasn't stolen them for her little brother. You know how young Master Thomas is about sweet things – especially sweet things that his Uncle Hank has hidden away. Apparently the fact that he's not supposed to eat them makes them taste that much sweeter." He chuckled softly, and then he nodded towards the Shi'Ar medical scanner in a closed-off portion of the lab, saying "If you'd like to take a seat over there, Jean, I shall be with you in one moment." Jean smiled in response and walked slowly over to the long seat that sat underneath the large array of computerised equipment, hopping into it and swinging her legs up into the foot-rests with a single swift movement. As she did so, she could hear the machinery begin to hum gently, the delicate armature of the machine's scanning module swinging out from its cradle and extending out over her body, the crimson light from its cyclopean eye washing over her green top and black jeans. She settled herself into a comfortable position, one hand curled over an arm-rest and the other clasped in Scott's fingers, and then waited for Hank to amble over, clipboard in hand and some reading glasses perched delicately on his nose. "Now then, Jean," he said in a distinctly serious tone, "if you'd just like to bare your stomach for me, I'm going to run this diagnostic array over your abdomen so that we can determine if you are, as you say you are, with child. If you'd like, I can determine the child's sex for you, since this scanner has the capability to read genetic structures down to the nearest strand of DNA. However, I shan't do that if you don't want me to – I can just keep it to myself. Doctor-computer confidentiality, if you will. So, would you like to know, or not?"

Jean glanced at Scott's pale, wan features, and he smiled back at her. Taking that as her cue, Jean said "We'd like to know, Hank. This way I can tell people what colour clothes to buy when it comes to the baby shower."

"Wonderful!" Hank exclaimed cheerfully, before his clawed fingers began to dance across the machine's controls, tapping buttons and flipping switches almost without a second glance. Jean watched the metal arm sweep across her bare belly, its red scanner drawing a thin curtain of light across her milk-white skin. After it had completed its journey, the arm retreated to its dormant state, and the computer to which it was attached whirred gently before spooling out a long sheet of perforated paper. Hank reached across almost absently and tore it off, bringing it up to his glasses and giving the information a cursory glance. He raised his eyebrows, and Jean could feel his palpable surprise. "Well I never," he murmured. "It appears you may have to ask for clothes of both colours, Jean."

"Meaning…?" Jean asked, even though she could guess what was coming next.

"Meaning you and Scott are apparently to be the parents of fraternal twins," Hank replied, with a smile. "And though it's still far too early to be thinking about these sorts of things – you still have a whole pregnancy to get through, after all – I'd like to be the first to offer my sincere good wishes. Congratulations, my dear, dear friends; it's been a long time coming. Far, far too long a time, if you ask me."

"Thank you, Hank," Scott said, a little out of breath and feeling a touch giddy from the news. "Thank you."

"My pleasure, Scott. Now do be a good sport and remember your radiotherapy treatment this week is on Thursday, and not Wednesday as we'd previously arranged. Your niece wants to give me a violin recital, and I'm looking forward to hearing her play a few concertos. You understand, don't you?"

Scott chuckled despite himself. _What Rebecca wants, she gets,_ he thought, amused. "Of course I understand, Hank. We all know what Rebecca's like if she can't get her way, don't we?" Jean tapped him on the arm, digging her finger into his bicep in annoyance.

"Oh, hush, Scott," she scolded him. "She's no worse than you when you can't get people to do what you tell them to do. Remember how upset you were the first time Wolverine wouldn't do exactly as you wanted? I think that's where she gets it from." She kissed her husband on the cheek. "You're more alike than you think you are, sweetheart. She's a daddy's girl in more ways than one, you know."

Scott smiled. It was always nice to hear that Rebecca had that little piece of him inside her – there were times when he would watch her with Warren and Betsy and almost forget that she was technically his daughter, not Warren's. The way she carried herself was so different to his own behaviour, or even that of her half-brothers and half-sister, that he almost wouldn't make the connection between her and himself. "I guess so," he said softly. "It's funny what family can do for you, isn't it?"

"Speaking of family," Hank began, "I think there is another person you should be speaking to about this, Scott. He's upstairs in his study right now, writing a speech for his next lecture at Empire State University. I think, however, that he will appreciate the interruption, don't you?"

"You might well be right, Hank," Scott said thoughtfully. "We'll be back later – and I guess I'll see you on Thursday, too."

"I guess you will. I look forward to it, as always," Hank said, with a broad, fanged grin. "Now go and give the Professor the good news before I do it myself!" He shooed them out of his lab, fussing over them like a schoolteacher over his two favourite students, and then returned to his workbench, prodding his samples with a metal rod and muttering complex equations to himself. Jean took one last look back at him before she and Scott began to walk back to the elevator that would take them back to the upper levels of the mansion, and raised an eyebrow.

"Do you ever worry that Hank is spending too much time down here?" she asked curiously. Scott shrugged.

"Not really. Hank's just doing what he likes to do. I mean it's not like you ever get worried about Bobby playing video games too much, or about Logan going hunting, is it? It's all a matter of perspective, Jean – you should know that by now."

"I suppose so," Jean replied. "Still, I really think we should ask him and Trish out on a double date with us sometime. Maybe we could go to the movies together? What do you think?"

"I think we should pick a mutually appealing movie, is what I think," Scott said. "You remember what happened the last time we tried a double date with a movie? Bobby took us to see some mindless action flick that had no plot or character whatsoever. He spent an hour and a half whooping at every explosion while the rest of us got totally bored. I swear to God, Jean – that was the first time I've ever agreed with Emma Frost on anything."

"Yes, well…" Jean began, "I think we can safely say that Hank won't want us to watch _Alien Death Monsters From Mars Part II_, don't you? Maybe he'll take us to see a nice foreign film instead?"

"Well, as long as there's some actual dialogue, and not just a bunch of t-shirt catchphrases, I'll be happy," Scott laughed, before he felt a jab of pain in the centre of his skull. "Damn it," he muttered, reaching into a pocket and swallowing a couple of tablets. "I always get headaches at the wrong time."

"Here, Scott. Let me help." Jean brushed her fingers against the front of Scott's skull, and the pain melted away into a mere fraction of what it had been before. She leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead, taking his face in her hands. "Your pain is my pain as well, remember? I don't want to be telling the Professor our good news when we've both got a knockout headache, do you?"

"I suppose not," Scott said in a detached kind of way, before he rubbed at his eyes and glanced down at the elevator's floor-counter, and saw it flash up at ground level. The doors sighed open and Jean helped her slightly groggy husband out onto the plush carpet of the ground floor, waiting for him to get his bearings. Then she took him by the hand and led him through the various passageways that took them from the elevator's small "lobby" towards the rear of the building, to the front hall, and then across into the left wing of the mansion, where the majority of the Professor's private above-stairs rooms were located.

Knocking on the door of the Professor's study, she said "Charles? Can we come in, please?"

_Of course, Jean,_ Charles' telepathic voice replied, its warm, welcoming tone flooding both Scott and Jean's mind with a calming, relaxing feeling of being totally at ease. _You are always welcome to talk to me – you should know that by now._ Encouraged, Jean pushed the door open and walked inside the spacious study, pulling up two chairs and seating herself on the opposite side of the Professor's desk. She waited for Scott to get himself comfortable and then laced her fingers together over the uppermost knee of her crossed legs.

"Now then, what can I do for the two of you?" the Professor asked, closing his laptop and putting it to one side, mirroring Jean's hands over the top of his desk.

"Well, Charles, we wanted you to be the first to know: we're having a baby," Jean said, and she took a great deal of pleasure from the visible delight that spread across the Professor's face. It wasn't often that the Professor let his emotions get the better of him (which was a side effect of his powers being so strong, Jean supposed. Like Storm, there was always the chance that strong emotions could affect those around him, and the Professor was always unwilling to harm others unless he had no other choice). "Two, actually."

"Well, I must say, Jean… it's about time," Charles said, with a rare smile playing across his lips. "I have watched the two of you since you were virtually children, and I always knew that this day would come. I just didn't expect to have to wait so long."

Scott laughed. "Hank said the same thing just a few minutes ago," he said. "I guess we'll get more of that when we tell the rest of the guys, won't we?"

"Absolutely," the Professor agreed. "You must realise, Scott: personal lives are very hard to keep personal in this house. People have been watching the pair of you for years – and I know for a fact that this will make an awful lot of people very happy: Bobby, in particular, will love the chance to be an uncle again."

"That's pretty obvious," Jean laughed. "He's practically Rebecca's best friend, and he plays with Tom whenever he gets the chance, too. I don't think Emma will be as happy, though, do you?"

"No, but I shall talk to her, and see if I can get her to accommodate you as best she can," Charles replied, a wry expression crossing his features for a moment or so. "I'm not promising anything, of course, but I shall do my best. She does have a rather… _intractable_ personality, doesn't she?"

"That's putting it lightly," Scott said with his eyebrows raised. "Good luck with that, Professor – and thanks."

"You're welcome, although I think I shall need more than luck to change Emma's mind on this matter. I think the best advice I can give is 'be prepared'." Charles raised his eyebrows for a moment, and then gestured towards the ground. "The War Room is always open if you need a place to hide."

"Thank you, Charles," Jean replied, "but I've never felt the need to hide from her before, and I don't plan on starting now."

"Having known you for as long as I have, that doesn't surprise me in the slightest. Before I forget, however…" As he spoke, Charles picked up his pen and pulled out a much-used chequebook from a drawer on his desk. "I am quite willing to set up a trust fund for your children, should you wish me to – perhaps something modest, but enough for them to sustain themselves when they have grown up?"

Jean and Scott looked at each other for a moment, each of them thoroughly taken aback by the Professor's abrupt offer. There was a moment of awkward silence before Jean took a deep breath and said "I… we… we don't know what to say, Charles. You don't have to do this just on our account –"

"Then, please, don't think of it that way," Charles said, shrugging. "Think of this as my present to your children. You are my first students: I think it's only right that I do something for you on this occasion, don't you?" He wrote out a cheque and then handed it to Scott, who looked at the amount written on it in almost total disbelief. Over two million dollars, signed away in the blink of an eye.

"Professor… you'd do this for our children?" he asked, stunned.

The Professor nodded. "Absolutely, Scott – on that you have my word. I may have to consider building an extension on the boathouse as well, if there are going to be two extra people moving into it in the near future. After all, Warren and Elisabeth are already talking about moving into a larger room and letting their son have the one they are currently occupying, as young Thomas is getting to be quite a handful living in his nursery. I'd rather avoid that problem entirely, as it has proven quite troublesome. Apparently foresight is a quality only truly appreciated in hindsight." He smiled. "Be that as it may, that cheque is yours to do with as you wish. I hope your children put it too good use."

"So do I," Jean replied, still a little taken aback. "Thank you so much, Charles. You don't know how much this means to me – to us."

"Think nothing of it, Jean. A good deed is its own reward, after all." The Professor gestured towards his closed laptop with one hand. "I'm sorry to cut this short, but I really must finish my speech. The event is next week, and I'd like to get this completed before then. If you'll excuse me?"

Nodding, Jean stood, and helped Scott back to his feet, before the two of them left the Professor's study, cheque in hand and still feeling a little shell-shocked from the whole exchange. As they walked down the corridor, they passed Logan walking the other way, his rough face set in a typical frown. He walked past them, and then paused, his nostrils twitching a little. He turned and then said "Nice job, one-eye. I was beginnin' to think you were firin' blanks there for a while."

Scott swung back to face him, his fists clenching against his better judgement. "What was that?" he asked, reminding himself that he really ought not to let Wolverine get to him after all this time as his team-mate.

"Oh, just thinkin' I should offer my sincere congratulations," Logan chuckled, before extending one callused finger towards Jean's belly. "You know, on yer two new arrivals there." He tapped the outstretched finger against his nose, winking. "The nose knows, bub. Women who are carryin' a kid smell different to ones who ain't – 'cause of the pheromones, I guess. An' not just that – you know the old sayin' 'two's company and three's a crowd'? Well, Jeannie smells like a crowd, if you get my meanin'." He moved forwards and stuck out his right hand. "Really, bub, I'm truly happy for ya." Grasping Scott's fingers carefully, he gave them a firm shake, and then pressed Scott to him in a bear-hug that caught the other man by surprise. When he sensed Scott's shock, Logan chuckled. "Ain't just the Cajun who can show emotion like this, ya know." Then, he moved across the corridor to Jean, and touched her cheek in a kiss, brushing his whiskery face against hers. "Congratulations, darlin'," he said, and Jean was certain she could feel a trace of buried pain in his words. "You'll be a wonderful momma, I guarantee it." He let her go, and then carried on his journey down the corridor. "Just be sure they know their Uncle Logan'll be watchin' out for them, okay?"


	8. On The Toss Of A Coin

_**Pennies From Heaven**_

_**Chapter Eight: On The Toss Of A Coin…**_

"Hello, Tom," Jean said softly, as she bent down to speak to the little blue-skinned boy sitting in front of her, his tousled blonde hair almost flopping down over his eyes as he played with his teddy bear in the centre of the rec. room floor, sitting on a soft rug that his parents had bought for him only a short while ago, which was decorated with large pictures of Sesame Street characters, including his favourite, Big Bird (when Jean had asked him why he liked Big Bird the best, he'd simply replied that just as Big Bird had big wings, so did his Daddy, and that meant that they were the same. Jean had simply shrugged her shoulders at that – if that was good enough for Tom, then it was good enough for her). He looked up at her with his bright blue eyes and smiled broadly.

"Hi, Auntie Jean," he replied, and then he held up his bear. "Want to play with me and Fuzzy Bear Hank? We're going to be astronauts!" Jean smiled, and shook her head.

"Maybe later, sweetie," she replied, ruffling the little boy's hair gently with one hand. "Can you maybe tell me where your mommy and daddy are? Uncle Scott and I would like to talk to them."

Tom screwed up his face for a second or two, looking both very disappointed and deep in thought at the same time. "Mummy said she and Daddy were going on a trip."

"Did she say they'd be gone long?" Scott asked, kneeling down alongside his wife. He wanted to stop this getting drawn out into a long conversation – he knew from experience that Tom loved to talk for hours, and would drag question-and-answer sessions out for as long as he could. "Where did your mommy say that she and your daddy were going?"

"They were just takin' a short trip to Westchester," said Rogue as she popped up from behind the bar. "Betsy asked me and Jen to keep an eye on your little friend there. Didn't she, hotshot?"

"Yeah, Auntie Lou," Tom said, clapping his hands excitedly. "Mummy said you'd look after me." He smiled. "Did Mummy say you could let me have some ice cream as well?"

"See what I've been puttin' up with all afternoon?" Rogue said, chuckling. "No, Tom, your momma didn't tell me you could have any ice cream. But I got you some anyway." She produced a bowl of strawberry, chocolate and vanilla ice-cream from below the lip of the bar, complete with a spoon and a glass of chocolate milk. Jean watched as Tom's eyes lit up and he jumped to his feet, almost tripping over his shoelaces to get to the bar. He struggled to clamber up on top of one of the stools lined up in front of it, until Jean gave him a short nudge with her telekinesis. It wasn't long before he was tucking enthusiastically into the ice cream and getting it smeared all over his cheeks. While he was eating, Rogue leaned over the bar and said "Why do you guys want to find Warren and Betsy? You guys need a loan or something?"

"No, we… needed some advice," Scott said, hesitantly. "You see, Jean and I… well, we found out a little while ago that we're having twins."

Rogue looked utterly shell-shocked for a moment, and then she raised an eyebrow. "You're havin' kids? Wow. You sure this is the best time for that? I mean, with Scott bein' sick an' all, seems like y'all got enough to worry about, don't you think?"

"That thought had crossed both of our minds, yeah," Scott replied, "but we talked about it, and we're going ahead with this. If I die before they're born, then I know that I'll have left something behind, and I know that you'll all pull together to help Jean raise them properly. And if I don't, then I'm still going to need all of you help Jean and me out – especially if my other kids are anything to go by."

"Well, I guess I'm kinda stuck then, ain't I?" Rogue said, grinning. "Congratulations, guys. Couldn't have happened to nicer folks." With that, she kissed the tips of the index and middle fingers of both hands and then touched Scott and Jean's cheeks with them. "Y'all better let me and Jen baby-sit 'em, okay?"

"Baby-sit who?" Jen said as she walked through the door to the rec. room. "Don't tell me I missed some big news." Jean explained what she had just told Rogue, and Jen's eyes lit up as she clapped her hands excitedly. "_More_ kids around here? This place is becoming a regular nursery, isn't it?"

"It seems that way, doesn't it?" Jean said, smiling. "Maybe we should fence off the east wing as a playpen?"

"Sounds like a good idea to me," Jen chuckled. "Maybe I could phone up my uncle and get him to do it for a discount price?"

"Thanks – we'd appreciate that," Scott said. He was about to speak again when the booming scream of a tesseract opening behind him made his fists clench like tightly-wound springs. He supposed, bitterly, that he should have expected this from the moment that Jean had told him she was pregnant. Turning, he saw Mr Sinister standing in front of him, his gloved hands spread wide and a sickeningly presumptuous smile smeared across his chalk-white features. Arrayed behind him were his Marauders, all of them looking ready for battle with their weapons unhooked from their holsters. Scalphunter twirled a custom-built pistol around the index finger of his right hand and blew a sneering kiss at Jen as Rebecca's scarred, tattooed clone wound herself around him like a python and licked his cheek. Out of the corner of his eye, Scott could see Rogue's fists clench so hard that he thought she might split her gloves, and he worried that this situation might devolve into a fight before he could defuse it.

"Hello, Scott," Sinister said, his pointed tongue flickering out between his rows of razor teeth, like that of a snake tasting their air. "I thought I'd offer you my deepest… _congratulations…_ on your happy news. You know how fond I am of you, my boy, so you must be able to imagine how pleased I am."

"Pleased, Sinister?" Scott spat angrily. "For who? Me – or yourself?"

"Oh, come, come, now – can't I be pleased for the both of us?" Sinister placed a hand in the centre of his chest, trying to appear as hurt and taken aback as he could. "This is a wonderful occasion! You may not believe it, but I always love to welcome new life into this world. The fact that the new life in question is growing in your wife's belly –" and he pointed at Jean's stomach "– is merely a bonus to me. At least at this point… perhaps later, they will provide me with some interesting research data."

"If you so much as scratch them, Sinister, I'll tear you to pieces," Jean hissed, her eyes beginning to crackle with rage. Sinister ignored her anger, maintaining his typically aloof demeanour as he did so, and simply steepled his fingers in front of his chest, tapping the points of his index fingers together in a staccato fashion.

"Madam, the last thing I want to do is incur your wrath," he said politely, as the oily, impenetrable crimson of his eyes glittered in the light. He bent at the waist in a genteel bow, and then spread his hands wide once again, in an almost casual gesture. "As I said, I am merely here to give you my good wishes. When next we meet it may well be a different story, but for now let me say this… I am truly happy for you, Scott – my favourite son. My greatest success." He nodded at Scott briefly then, and Jean thought that she could sense pride oozing off Sinister's mind at that moment. It was an unpleasant sensation, and she did her best to shrug it off as best she could. It didn't work, and she could feel the twisted parody of emotion winding itself around her mind like barbed wire. She shuddered visibly, making Sinister raise an eyebrow. "Am I… unnerving you, Miss Grey?" he chuckled. "Perhaps I should take my leave, then. No need to worry a woman with child, is there?" He clicked his fingers and a tesseract yawned open behind him, which he stepped through without another word, his Marauders following him in strict order. The tesseract snapped shut with a sucking sound of air rushing in to fill the void, leaving an eerie sort of silence in its wake.

It was a few moments before Tom piped up with "Is the scary clown-face man gone now, Auntie Lou?"

"Yeah, honey," Rogue breathed. "He's gone – for now, anyway…"

* * *

Jean watched Scott undergoing another radiotherapy treatment from behind thick shielding glass, and looked over at Hank anxiously. "How's he doing, Hank?" she asked.

Hank adjusted the glasses on the tip of his furry nose, and looked down at the clipboard he'd laid on the console in front of him. "Well, he seems to be – and I can't believe I'm saying this, given the type of cancer we were dealing with here – he seems to be in almost a full state of remission. The cancer is receding exponentially, with only a few small nodules left in certain key areas of his brain. A few more treatments and he should be able to simply start taking some preventative drugs, instead of having to submit himself to these regular radiotherapy sessions. Give him five years, and he should be well-poised to be given the all-clear." He smiled a sharp-edged smile, and then staggered backwards as Jean almost threw herself at him in an ecstatic hug, kissing him passionately on the lips before regaining her composure and tucking her hair behind her ears, looking a little sheepish.

"Sorry, Hank," she said, clearing her throat and glancing down at the floor of the lab for a moment. "I just…"

Hank closed his hand on her shoulder. "I know, Jean. I feel the same way." He winked at her. "Just give me some warning before you try that again, all right? I'd like to be able to enjoy it more the next time."

"Oh, shut up, fuzzy," Jean retorted, and slapped him playfully on the arm. "You'll take what I give you and like it."

"Now you're just being a tease," Hank chuckled, and gathered up some notes in his paws before sketching some random doodles onto them with his ball-point pen and giving her an earnest look. "It's good to see you smile again, Jean. That's been all-too-absent over the past few months, and I for one have missed that radiant glow. Don't make us wait any longer."

"I'll try not to, Hank. I –" Jean stopped in mid-sentence and clutched at her stomach, her face creasing in pain. Recognising instantly that something was deeply wrong, Hank dropped the files onto a nearby work-surface and rushed forwards to grasp Jean's hand. He helped her to her feet, easing one of her arms over his bulky shoulder in order to give her a steady base, and then took her over to one of the beds in the upper levels of the infirmary. Taking hold of one of her hands, Hank tried to look as reassuring as he could, even though he knew that Jean would be feeling the panic that gnawed at him just as acutely as she felt her own.

"It's all right, Jean," he began. "Just lie here, and I'll go and find Scott."

"Hank?" Jean whispered. "Is it the babies?"

"No, Jean," Hank lied, uselessly. "No, it's not the babies."

The bloody stain slowly spreading on Jean's trousers told a different story.

* * *

Scott dragged himself up off the floor as the psychic backlash he'd just felt began to fade, not for the first time cursing his weakened and imbalanced body. He grabbed his cane and started moving towards the door as fast as he could. He'd felt Jean's pain slash across the rapport like a knife dipped in rattlesnake venom, searing a lasting memory of it into his brain. He was almost at the door when it hissed open and a worried-looking Hank appeared. "Scott, Jean has –" Hank began, but Scott cut him off.

"I know," he said curtly. "How is she?"

"I don't know yet," Hank said. "What I do know, Scott, is that she needs you, and she needs you right this instant." Scott nodded, and followed Hank to Jean's bed as fast as he could. His head ached, both from the therapy and from the after-effects of the psychic feedback he'd just experienced, but he boxed that pain off as he seated himself by the bed where his wife was lying clutching her stomach. He grasped her right hand and felt her squeeze back tightly, her knuckles whitening even further under her pale skin.

"I'm here, sweetheart," he murmured. "Everything's going to be fine."

"I'm scared, Scott," Jean said in a hoarse voice, looking at him with tear-moistened eyes. "I don't know what's happening to me, or to the babies. I don't know. I don't _know._"

"Well, that's what I'm here to find out, isn't it? If you wouldn't mind getting out of the way, Scott, we can get this over and done with," Hank said, with a sense of cheerfulness that was so obviously false that Scott could have almost sworn he could literally see right through it. Hank tapped a few buttons on a handheld unit and the scanner device on his medical computer flipped out and started humming as its familiar red light swept over Jean's tensed belly. Almost immediately it spat out a small piece of paper, which Hank removed from its spool apprehensively. He took one look at it and then covered his face with his hands. Drawing them down so that they were over his mouth, he took a deep breath and said "I – I'm so sorry, Jean, but –"

"They're dead," Jean said in a flat, emotionless voice. "Aren't they?"

"I…" Hank began, before he took a deep breath and said "Yes, Jean, both of your babies are dead. Their heartbeats have been absent for some time now, if my scanner is correct. All the signs seem to point to their umbilical cords not having attached properly to the interior of your womb. They wouldn't have survived for much longer. I'm sorry."

"That's the thing, isn't it?" Jean muttered, more to herself than anybody else. "All this technology is always correct, no matter what. Why couldn't it have been wrong, just this once?"

Scott reached out a tentative hand and tried to touch her on the shoulder. "Jean, maybe you should –"

"Don't. Touch. Me," Jean hissed, not looking at him until she rounded on him like a viper, her green eyes aflame. "_You_ did this, Scott. _You_ took them away from me."

"What?" Scott looked confused then, utterly clueless as to what Jean meant. "I don't understand –"

"Oh, didn't Hank tell you yet?" Jean said, her voice dripping with scorn. "You're virtually cured. You get to live, so my babies have to die. That's the way life works around here, isn't it?" She pushed herself up off the bed and staggered towards the doorway of the med-lab, bloody trickles running down her leg as she did so. When Hank tried to stop her, she shoved him aside with the merest thought. "Leave me alone," she spat, contemptuously. "I don't need you – either of you." With that, she stumbled out of the med-lab and down the hall towards the elevator that would take her back up to the mansion's ground level, hitting the walls of the corridor as she moved unsteadily away from Hank and Scott. Scott hobbled after her as fast as he could, but when he got close to her, she bounced him away with a telekinetic shove. He slammed into the wall and felt the air driven from his lungs, a sharp spike of pain in his chest making him pray that he hadn't cracked a rib. He looked up, coughing, and through blurry, unfocused vision he saw the elevator's door hiss closed on Jean, the light in her eyes that he loved replaced by a deadened, featureless darkness. He reached out uselessly with his right hand, wheezing his wife's name through empty lungs, and then pushed himself into a more upright position as Hank came to help him up.

"We have to find her," Hank said, redundantly, as he checked Scott's bruised chest to make sure that there were no serious injuries. "I still need to stem that bleeding. Left unchecked it could turn into a haemorrhage, and that could definitely be life-threatening. Can you tell where she is, Scott?"

Scott put a hand to his head, and frowned. "No. She's blocking off her end of our rapport, somehow. I can't feel her anymore."

"Damn it," Hank muttered, clenching one of his clawed hands into a fist before he stabbed the button on the nearest intercom panel and asked that any X-Men on the estate keep a lookout for Jean. The panel crackled for a moment, and then Bobby's voice came back over the link.

"Hank? I just saw Jean going down to the boathouse – she looked pretty upset. You want me to go talk to her?"

"No, Bobby, I'll do it," Scott said, in a low tone. "It's me she's angry at, not you."

* * *

Scott pushed open the door of the boathouse and immediately heard the sound of running water coming from upstairs. He moved up to the second floor of the house as quickly as he could, and pushed open the door of the bathroom, expecting the worst. However, what he saw still shocked him.

Jean was sat in the bath, fully clothed, with the overhead shower running at full blast. The water was freezing – Scott could feel the cold even from where he was standing – and Jean's face was streaked with black trails of ruined mascara. "Jean?" Scott said, tentatively, not wishing to spur Jean into any more fits of anger. "Do you want to talk?"

"What is there to say?" Jean said in the same flat, featureless voice she'd used in the med-lab, not even bothering to look at him as she spoke. Her hair lay in damp, straggly strands around her face, overlaying her desolate expression like thunderclouds. "They're gone, Scott. My babies are gone. Like I said: I get you back, but I have to give them up to do it. Where's the justice in that? Why can't I have both?" She looked up at him, her wet face gone pale and wan, almost as if she'd had all the life leeched out of her. "What did I do for the universe to be that cruel?"

"You didn't do anything, Jean," Scott said gently, trying to be as delicate as he could. Jean was clearly very fragile right now, and the last thing she needed was for him to say something stupid. "It's not your fault."

"Yes it is," Jean insisted. "Yes it _is_. I wanted this too badly. I pushed this too fast. Everything I ever wanted I had right there in the palm of my hand, and I screwed it all up. Somehow, I screwed it all up."

Scott shook his head, feeling his own tears getting ready to spill down his cheeks. "If anybody's the screw-up, Jean, it's me. You were the one who told me that we were in this together, remember? That they were my babies as well? I was ready to push you away completely, but you knocked some sense into me." He reached out and put his hand on Jean's soaking-wet shoulder. "You've held me together these past few months. Now let me do the same for you. Can you do that for me?" Jean sniffed back a trickle from her nose and nodded. Scott smiled a painful smile, and then knelt down next to the bathtub. Drawing his wife close to him, he held her, silently rocking her as she let go of the sobs that had been building in her chest, and crying along with her. "It'll be okay," he whispered. "I promise."

_Fin._


End file.
